Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's work. The OC's are mine.
*Stumbles over, gasping for breath, and holding several pieces of paper.*
"F-finished!" *collapses in exhaustion*
Enjoy!
(WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS SOME CUSSING IN IT. {DON'T WORRY, IT'S NOTHING MAJOR})
(another warning: this is the longest chapter I've ever written, so it may take y'all a while {to be exact, it's 15,996 words and 60 pages long according to google docs... it seems that my writing has become rather excessive... I'm not sure whether I should be excited or concerned... meh. I choose excited!})
After a few tries, Beleg finally managed to snap the branch off the tree. He raced back over to Mablung, tying a spare bowstring he happened to have in his pocket to the makeshift bow as he went.
"MABLUNG!" Mablung wheeled around as he heard someone frantically shout his name, only to be nearly body-slammed by his friend. Before he could say anything however, Beleg shoved a bow into his hands.
"Use this!" Beleg said quickly before resuming his "target practice". Mablung looked at the black yew bow skeptically. He was supposed to use this?
"Better than nothing." Mablung told himself as he picked up a quiver that had belonged to a fallen adan. Although he removed the quiver respectfully, he still felt terrible about taking something off a dead man. He nocked an arrow in the bow and started to pull back the string…
Nothing happened.
Mablung pulled as hard as he could, but he could not pull back the string.
"Beleg! How tightly did you tie the bowstring?!" Mablung shouted as he tried pulling even harder. Beleg looked back at his friend, confused. He had only tied the bowstring as tightly as the bowstring on his own bow, although Mablung was stronger than he was. Why wasn't he able to pull it back?
There was only one other thing he could do now to help his friend, but it meant putting himself in harm's way to protect another life. Another life he cared about. He knew the risk he had to take, but was he afraid to take it? Beleg wasn't sure if he was afraid to carry on with this, however, there was no time to second guess himself.
"Here!" he said as he shoved his own bow into Mablung's hands, and then ran, for some reason though, he took the unusable bow with him. He didn't know why, but for some reason, it spoke to him.
"Beleg! Have you gone mad?! You'll get yourself killed!" Mablung yelled at the top of his lungs as he attempted to run after his friend, before an adan attacked him from behind, forcing him to fight for his life, rather than go after his comrade, no, more than a comrade, his friend, no, his best friend, no, even more than that, his brother.
"Don't worry about me Mablung, just keep yourself alive!" Beleg whispered to himself as he ran, picking up a fallen sword as he went, and continued his fight.
Mablung looked around for Beleg frantically once he had finished with the adan. He cursed under his breath once he discovered that he could no longer see Beleg, Culdôr, Daecrist, or Callon. Right now, he could only pray that they'd be alright.
The Nargothrondian spun round, deflecting a knife that had been thrown at him, as he did his very best to ignore the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. It wasn't the pain that was bothering him. The adrenaline coursing through his body took care of that. It was the fact that it was restricting his movement, and partially blocking his view. The edain backed up for a few minutes, pausing to catch their breath and to quickly check themselves over for injuries, giving the Nargothrondian the time he needed to do the same. Instead of removing the arrow however, he snapped it in half, allowing him to see clearly out of the corner of his eye, but at the same time, preventing him from bleeding out.
He glanced up into the tree. The elfling was still there, looking down at him with frightened eyes. The Nargothrondian gave the child a slight nod, and his best attempt at an encouraging smile. He wasn't sure if he actually smiled. He had never done much smiling in his life. The elfling, however, seemed to grow less afraid, and gave the Nargothrondian a tiny smile of his own. The Nargothrondian bent down, and pulled his dagger out of his boot. He grit his teeth in pain as he began to slowly climb the tree. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body, the arrow wound was starting to hurt like hellfire. When he reached the top of the tree however, the elfling backed up in terror.
"Hey, it's alright penneth. I promise you, it's alright." The elfling stopped backing up, but still looked at the Nargothrondian in fear.
"So… you're not going to hurt me?" The Nargothrondian was stunned.
"Of course not! Why would I?"
"Because you have a drawn knife and sword with you." the Nargothrondian sighed in exasperation.
"Actually, the only reason I took my knife out in the first place was to give it to you." the Nargothrondian replied quietly as he held the knife by the blade as he passed it to the elfling. Callon was shocked. The Nargothrondian was giving him a knife?
"Wow… thanks!" Callon beamed. Not because he was getting a weapon, no, because the Nargothrondian was trusting him with a weapon. The Nargothrondian chuckled as he watched the elfling carefully examine the blade. He remembered another elfling, long ago, having the same reaction as he found the same knife abandoned on the side of the road. That elfling carried that blade this morning as he sat in a tree, without a care in the world.
"You're welcome, but that's not a toy. Remember that. Only use it if you have to."
"Yes sir! Don't worry, you can count on me! By the way, my name's Callon, son of Daecrist and Eleithel. What's your name?" Callon rambled in his excitement. The Nargothrondian was about to answer, when he suddenly flattened Callon to the branch, bodily shielding him.
"Hey! What-" Callon suddenly noticed an arrow quivering in the tree branch behind them.
"Come down here and fight you coward! Or we'll put a shaft through that littlun's skull!" one of the edain shouted as the other one laughed. Another two lay dead on the ground. Wait, there were five of them. Where was the other? The Nargothrondian looked around with uncertainty. Wait, neither of the two living edain that he could see were archers, thus meaning, the third adan was an archer and was hiding.
"Stay down, and if you need to run, run through the trees." the Nargothrondian whispered to Callon as he began to climb down from their perch.
"Please be careful, sir." Callon gulped as he watched the Nargothrondian walk towards his opponents, sword drawn, slowly preparing himself to fight. The edain rushed at him, before he really had a chance to fully prepare himself for battle. Callon couldn't wait up there and do nothing. He had to do something. He just had to. He looked down at the gleaming knife in his hands. Only use it if you have to. The Nargothrondian's words echoed inside his head. Now was the time to use it.
The Nargothrondian lay flat on his back, with two sword points resting against his chest, threatening. Suddenly, there was a cry from above, and a very familiar knife was suddenly buried up to the hilt in one of the edain's throat. He fell backward without a sound. The remaining adan stood there in shock, giving the Nargothrondian enough time to get up. In an instant, he was on his feet, and the man was lying on the ground, his eyes looking up blankly at the sky.
The archer looked at the sight in horror, wondering if anything could take down this elf. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind and he began searching through his quiver. There was something in there that could help him. Ah, there it was. He loaded a particular arrow into his crossbow, and once again aimed at the elf.
The Nargothrondian collapsed with an agonized yell that didn't sound like him, when searing pain suddenly shot through his left leg. He had been hit by another arrow. How could he have been stupid enough to forget about the archer?! He had been hit by arrows before, but for some reason, this kind of pain was completely new to him. This arrow was different. He painstakingly reached down to his left calf, grabbed the shaft, and gave it a light tug. He gasped as black spots danced in front of his vision.
"It's barbed. Valar curse it, it's barbed!" the voice inside his head screamed at him as the pain increased.
Callon watched in fear as the archer slowly made his way towards the fallen swordsman. He had no weapon now. He could not help his new friend.
The Nargothrondian grimaced as he pulled himself up onto an elbow. He wasn't going to the Halls of Mandos like this. He would go down fighting, no matter how much pain it caused him, he would not die this way. Suddenly, a hard blow to his side chased his breath away.
"Stop that! Leave him alone!" a shout came from the trees above. The adan rolled his eyes, loaded his crossbow, and pointed it in the direction of the voice. Callon gave a yelp and promptly flattened himself against the tree, out of harm's way. The last thing he wanted to tell his parents was that he'd been impaled by an arrow. But that dratted adan had just kicked his friend! Why did he have to kick his mellon when he was already down?
"Try that again, and I'll kill you." the Nargothrondian rasped once he had recovered his breath. The adan looked down at him in amusement. "I mean it mellon-nín. If you so much as harm a hair on that child's head, I will kill you, even if I have to do it with my bare hands, I will kill you." the adan couldn't help but shudder as the elf's voice grew dangerously soft.
"As if you'll be able to get up to do so, elf!" the adan laughed cruelly, trying to sound braver than he felt. He took a few steps back, and loaded another arrow into his crossbow.
The Nargothrondian reached for his fallen sword, he could almost reach it, just barely. His fingertips brushed against the pommel of his sword. Just a little farther, and he would be able to grab the hilt.
The adan was about to pull the trigger, when something small and hard bounced off the top of his head. An acorn lay innocently on the ground.
"Ha ha, dumb ol' boulder brains! You wouldn't recognize a good archer, like my Ada or Beleg, even if one fell on your fat head!"
That blasted elfling!
The adan fired an arrow up into the tree. The Nargothrondian's heart stopped beating.
"Callon…"
"Well, elf. That's your little friend taken care of. Now, it's your turn." the Nargothrondian could feel his eyes slowly beginning to fill with tears. Valar, why? Why take one at such a young age? The adan could kill him for all he cared. He had failed Callon.
The adan aimed at the Nargothrondian with a sinister grin. Finally, he could kill the bloody elf that had caused them so much trouble.
Whack!
A rather large stick came flying out of nowhere, and struck the adan's shoulder. He instinctively pulled the trigger… and missed his target entirely. The Nargothrondian's face lit up in a relieved smile. Callon was alright!
"Boy, you are a terrible archer. Here's that arrow that 'took care of me'!" Callon was in plain view now, standing on a tree branch high above their heads, waving an arrow triumphantly in the air. The Nargothrondian couldn't help snickering slightly as he watched the adan's face turn a terrific shade of red at Callon's cheeky antics. He'd have to congratulate the elfling later. For an elfling, Callon had picked up the skill of tree jumping quickly, for which the Nargothrondian was incredibly grateful.
"I'VE HAD IT WITH THE TWO OF YOU!" the adan practically screamed in frustration as he reloaded his crossbow, and aimed at the Nargothrondian once more. The Nargothrondian reached desperately for his sword. Almost there. He could almost reach it!
A deadly hiss filled the air, followed by a metallic ping as the arrow ricocheted off the Nargothrondian's sword. The adan's facial expression of fury suddenly turned into one of shock.
Although he hated to admit it, this elf was probably the best swordsman he'd ever seen.
The Nargothrondian gripped his sword tightly, preparing to throw it. Callon drew in breath sharply. In all the times he had accompanied his adar to the training grounds, he had never seen anyone throw a sword. Not once. He knew that it could be done, but it was rare that it ever met its mark, because of the weight.
The adan gaped as he watched the elf prepare to throw the sword at him. He wanted to run, but his legs would not obey him. Suddenly, the sword was flying, straight and true. Callon turned away, and covered his eyes. As incredible as the feat was, he didn't wish to see the aftermath. There was strangled noise from below, and then a resounding thud. Callon slowly uncovered his eyes, and then immediately wished he hadn't.
The adan would've been gazing unseeingly at the ground, had the Nargothrondian's sword not been sticking out of his throat, pinning him to a tree.
The Nargothrondian fell backwards, back to his former position on the ground, exhausted. His eyelids felt like lead. He could barely keep them open. He could faintly hear Callon crying out in alarm over the ringing in his ears. The seconds seemed like hours. Suddenly, a few "hours" later, he saw the blurred form of Callon running towards him. His eyes closed. He didn't have the strength to keep them open. He had used the last it when he had thrown the sword to protect Callon. Darkness finally claimed him. The elfling was safe now. He no longer needed protection.
Callon ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, and then fell to his knees beside his friend. He gave the Nargothrondian a shake. No response. He tried again, this time, shaking the Nargothrondian a little harder. Same result. Callon could feel fear and panic building up inside of him.
"Echuia! Please wake up!" the Nargothrondian's eyes fluttered open for a few brief seconds before he passed out again.
Callon was terrified. His friend was hurt, and there was no one there to help. Whenever he, or one of his friends got hurt, Callon could always trust that either his parents or another adult would be there. But now, there was no one. Callon was alone, with a hurt friend, and absolutely no idea how to help that friend.
He was only six years old! What could he do?
Eleithel didn't share a bond with Daecrist or Callon the same way Alquawen and Maewen shared a bond with their brothers, however, being both a mother and a retired marchwarden had taught her to trust her gut whenever she got a feeling that something was off. And now that Alquawen and Maewen had sensed that something was wrong…. Eleithel knew she had been right that morning when she woke up with a feeling that something was out of place.
"What do you mean, 'you can't reach him'?" Eleithel asked the gentle healer with concern. She had retired after Callon had been born, so she had worked with Beleg, Mablung, and Culdôr for a time. She had witnessed how devoted Beleg and Culdôr were to their sisters. And now Alquawen couldn't reach Beleg? The two siblings were so close knit that one not being able to reach the other seemed nearly impossible.
"That's exactly what I mean, Eleithel. I've tried telepathically connecting with him several times, and he's not responding." Alquawen said softly "I fear for him. He normally replies quickly, to be honest, he usually contacts me first."
"What about you, Maewen? Were you able to get through to Culdôr?" Eleithel asked.
"Yes." Maewen hiccuped as she valiantly tried to fight back tears. Eleithel felt horrible for pressuring Maewen into telling her what was going on. The young elleth was so innocent and gentle… but Eleithel needed to know what was going on. Not only for Daecrist and Callon's sake, but rather for everyone's sake. All of those marchwardens had loved ones at home; spouses, children, sweethearts, siblings, parents… and they all would be heartbroken if the marchwardens got hurt… or worse… killed. Although no one wanted to admit it, there was always a chance that the worst could happen. She learned that the hard way in her marchwarden days.
Two-hundred and fifty-seven years beforehand
It was a massive battle. They were sent as reinforcements for the troops trapped there. She had only been a private at the time - the lowest rank in the army. Young, adventurous, and itching for a fight. What she got was being trapped in a massacre.
She had been fighting wildly. They had underestimated the enemy's numbers. When they got there, the place was crawling with yrch. Now, it was overflowing. Someone screamed her name. She ignored.
"ELEITHEL!" This time, the scream was much louder, as if whoever shouted her name was closer. All of a sudden, she heard it. A loud hissing noise, coming her way. Then, someone tackled her to the ground without warning. Eleithel's eyes at least doubled their size when her rescuer's agonized scream mingled with the horrific sound of an arrow penetrating flesh.
Elleth and ellon tumbled to the bloodstained ground. As they fell, Eleithel noticed a rather interesting ranking mark on the ellon's sleeve. As soon as she hit the ground, Eleithel scrambled over to her fallen rescuer.
"General! General Gaeredhelion, are you alright!?" Daecrist only groaned in response as he placed a protective hand over his side. Eleithel was confused. So far, Daecrist had seemed to resent her for her sense of adventure and for her love of fighting. Why did he save her?
"Next time you're told… to duck… please do so."
"RETREAT!" a higher-ranking General's cry echoed throughout the battlefield. Eleithel and another marchwarden pulled Daecrist to his feet and started to run. Soon after though, another arrow took out the other marchwarden. Daecrist and Eleithel were then on their own, two edhil running through the darkness…
… She went to visit Daecrist in the makeshift field infirmary after the battle. It had been a total disaster. The troop that had been trapped there had been completely wiped out. There hadn't been a single survivor. Over half of Eleithel's troop had either been wounded or killed. She wanted to apologize to her General for her reckless behavior. Had she been more careful, he wouldn't have gotten hurt.
When she entered the tent though, fear took hold. Eleithel looked around in horror at the numerous cots scattered throughout the tent, with a wounded marchwarden or soldier on each one. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then walked up to one of the healers.
"Excuse me?" she asked. The healer turned around. She was good-looking, her silver hair fell down to her waist, and her dark blue eyes contrasted with her fair skin, although her cheeks were rosy. Eleithel couldn't tell whether it was natural, or if it was from all the work she was doing. She smiled though, despite the awful things going on in the tent.
"Mae govannen! How can I assist you?"
"I'd like to inquire about a friend of mine?"
"Of course! Who's your friend?"
"General Gaeredhelion?" The healer's brow furrowed for a second as she thought, before her eyes lit up in recognition.
"Colonel Gaeredhelion is over there. Have a good rest of your day." The healer replied with a smile. Eleithel, however, wasn't listening. She was stuck on one word; Colonel. There had to be some mistake. Daecrist couldn't have been demoted. Could he? He hadn't done anything wrong during the battle, had he?
"I think there's been a mistake?" Eleithel started to say, but the healer was gone, taking care of other patients.
For the second time since she had been there, Eleithel took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and continued. Daecrist was on the farside of the tent, laid up on a cot, staring at the tent flaps fluttering in the wind. Eleithel winced as she noticed that his side was heavily bandaged.
"General?" Eleithel asked, her voice quiet. Daecrist looked up, startled, then quickly unclasped his hands from where they had been behind his head, and got himself into a sitting position. It was rather strange. Daecrist didn't look half as imposing as he normally did. His tunic and whatever armor he had lay on a trunk next to the cot, leaving him in dirt covered trousers and a bloodstained undertunic. His braids were coming undone, allowing his light brown hair to fall into his face. His face was smeared with dirt, grime, and Valar-knew-what had been on the ground during the battle, but his grey eyes still shone brightly. In short, he looked more like a weather beaten traveler than the warrior he was.
"Private." He returned her greeting, carefully masking a grimace from the sudden movement. "And… it's Colonel, now, actually." He said with a slightly sheepish expression. There was an awkward moment of silence between the pair, as they both searched for something to say. "Why are you here?" Daecrist asked her, genuinely confused.
"I wanted to make sure that you were alright after the battle." Eleithel replied, finding her voice at last. Daecrist blinked, stunned silent. Eleithel hadn't known at the time, but she had been the first person to ever visit the young General after a battle, simply to ask him if he was alright.
"I'm… fine, thank you. Um… how are you?" Now, it was Eleithel's turn to be confused. This was the first time she had ever heard Daecrist sound unsure of himself.
"I'm alright, just… shaken I suppose."
"I know the feeling." They again were silent, unable to tear their minds away from the terrible losses. Eleithel wanted, no, needed to ask Daecrist something, only… she didn't know if she had the courage to spit it out. Oh, to blazes with that excuse. She was more worried about how it would affect him.
"Why were you demoted?" Eleithel asked, trying to ask it gently. Daecrist looked as if he didn't know how to put it into words.
"He was demoted because his 'rescue' antics were reckless, unplanned, and most importantly, foolish." A new voice said sharply. Daecrist resisted the urge to say something back, as General Caranmîrion stepped into the scene. Thoronmîr was the lowest ranking General above Daecrist's former station, and was the ellon who had pushed for Daecrist's demotion. The two had grown up together, and unfortunately, the ellyn did not have a good relationship by any means.
Eleithel felt like she had been slapped across the face, as guilt began to build up inside of her. Now, not only was she the reason that Daecrist had gotten hurt, she was the reason he had been demoted.
"And, " Eleithel mentally added as she noticed that the General's symbol had literally been ripped off the sleeve of Daecrist's tunic "humiliated as well."
Daecrist could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks out of anger. Not because Thoronmîr was going ahead and trying to embarrass him, but rather because Thoronmîr was playing on Eleithel's guilt. Valar be damned, the poor elleth felt bad enough without Thoronmîr being a total uncaring bastard.
"With all due respect, General." Daecrist suddenly spoke up. "Culdôr and Eleithel are the only knife throwers we have in Pessmenel. We can't afford to lose either of them, so I did what I had to." Eleithel looked up in surprise. Daecrist was defending her? Thoronmîr gave Daecrist a glare.
"You're forgetting your place, Colonel. Do you need to be moved down another rank?" Daecrist threw Thoronmîr a glare of his own.
"Do what you like. At least I know that I did the right thing, even if you don't think so." Daecrist replied coolly, but with steel behind each word. Eleithel couldn't help admiring the fact that although demoted, Daecrist still acted every bit like a General. Thoronmîr walked away in a huff, muttering some rather insulting things under his breath. Then, to Eleithel's utter astonishment, shock, and amusement, Daecrist childishly stuck his tongue out at Thoronmîr's retreating back.
"Sorry." Daecrist apologized with a sheepish grin. "I couldn't resist." Eleithel couldn't help returning his grin.
"I don't think I would've been able to resist either." Once again, they fell silent. "I-I'd also like to apologize for not following orders during the battle." Eleithel said at last.
"Forget it. Those orders I had to give came from that idiot, Thoronmîr. If it hadn't been for his stupid ideas, we could've gotten away with fewer losses." Eleithel gawked. Daecrist wasn't bothered by the fact that she had disobeyed orders? "Some days, I wonder if he's secretly an orc." Daecrist commented dryly.
"He's ugly enough." Eleithel quipped without thinking first. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she had just said. Daecrist looked at her in surprise. Had she really just insulted a higher ranking officer? A slow smile spread across his normally stern features before he could stop it. They were soon laughing hysterically at the truth in Eleithel's observation.
And that's how an unlikely friendship began between the Colonel and the Private. And eventually, that friendship grew into something more.
"Eleithel? Eleithel, wake up." Eleithel looked up, startled out of her reverie. The day after that battle had been the day that she and Daecrist had come to an understanding. She discovered that he understood and respected that she loved adventure, he just wished her to be safe.
"What? Oh. Sorry about that, I must've zoned out. Maewen, what did Culdôr tell you? I don't like pressuring you into telling me, but we need to know what's going on, so we know how to act." Maewen nodded, and did her very best to repeat everything Culdôr had said without crying. At the end of it all, she broke down into tears. Eleithel's mind was racing as she and Alquawen did their best to comfort the young apprentice. This was not good at all! Culdôr had always been so confident… whatever was going on must be extremely bad if he promised Maewen that he would return…
"We need to convince master-healer Aearon to dispatch some healers with medical supplies. If we can convince him to do so, then we can set up a temporary infirmary tent on the road to Nargothrond."
Daecrist fired arrow after arrow from where he lay on the ground. His leg was definitely broken, he was certain of that. How badly broken, on the other hand… the answer to that question was elementary: he had no idea. It used to feel like fire was racing up and down his leg, now, the fire was ice. His leg was entirely numb. Daecrist was not a healer by any means (in fact, he had a feeling that if he tried to fix his leg, he'd either make it worse, or break it in another location) but he was certain that the numbness wasn't good. He briefly wondered if the healers would be able to patch him up.
He was running out of arrows. He wondered if he'd make it back to Doriath. He wondered whether or not his ion was alive. He hoped so. Callon had so much to live for. He wondered what would happen to Eleithel if he didn't return. He wondered if his family knew how much he loved them. He knew he didn't say it often enough. He'd gladly give his life to protect them. Daecrist swore to himself that he'd tell Eleithel and Callon how much he loved them more often, if he made it out alive.
Daecrist reached for his quiver, but his hand met air. His eyes widened in panic. He didn't have any more arrows. For the first time since he started thinking about his family, he looked at the battlefield. Now, his eyes widened in shock. All the edain that had been approaching him were dead. Had he really killed them all?
"Don't be an idiot." the voice inside his head snapped. "You couldn't have killed them all. There had to be someone else." But… there wasn't anyone there. Daecrist could easily accept the fact that there had to have been someone else there. Afterall, a warrior was supposed to be modest, truthful, and selfless. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was there, but… at the same time… he couldn't see anyone. For some reason, the presence he felt didn't feel anything like an elf. He wasn't alone. And his companion's presence practically screamed adan, the same way that his mind screamed danger.
"Well, look what we have here." Daecrist looked behind him. There. An evil looking adan was standing in his blindspot. He walked around the fallen elf until he was standing beside him. Daecrist gave the adan a look that he normally reserved for uncooperative marchwardens and soldiers. He wanted to make sure that this adan understood that he was not going to be an easy kill.
Dúnmod couldn't help giving the broken elf a sinister smile. This elf definitely was a fighter. Unfortunately for him, his position made him an easy target, vulnerable to attack. Just the way Dúnmod liked it. Despite the fact that he was willing to do anything to gain power, Dúnmod was a coward, prefering to kill anyone who stood in his way when they had no way of fighting back. His smile grew wider. He'd have fun breaking the elf even further. Dúnmod knelt beside the fallen elf warrior, to get a closer look at him.
"A General, eh?" he inquired, tugging the insignia on the elf's sleeve. The elf just fixed him with a death glare instead of giving him an answer. Dúnmod slipped his hand beneath the elf's horse, and pressed down on the elf's obviously broken leg. Hard. The elf General clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out, as the pain in his leg intensified. "I said 'are you a General?'"
"Hands… off… adan. " The elf somehow managed to hiss through his teeth. Dúnmod pressed on the elf's leg even harder.
Black spots danced in front of Daecrist's vision. But he stubbornly refused to make any noise. "At least the ice has returned to fire." Daecrist told himself
Dúnmod stopped pressing on the elf's leg. It was quite obvious now that pain was not going to make the elf talk. Fortunately for Dúnmod, however, he had enough information on this part of Doriath's army to come up with another tactic to get this elf to talk.
"My men were spying on all of you on the road. I've been told that there was an elf-youngster riding behind you. Your child, I presume?" even as he said the words, the elf's eyes sparked with fury. Dúnmod smiled smugly. He had hit the elf in the right spot. "Well, if inflicting pain on you won't get you to talk, then maybe inflicting pain on your offspring will! Why don't I get some of my men to go and search-" Dúnmod never saw the strike. He just felt the effect of it, as he lay flat on his back, clutching his stomach.
"I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU EVEN DARE TO LAY A FINGER ON HIM, YOU BASTARD!" The elf shouted lividly. Dúnmod grimaced as he sat up, rubbing his stomach. He had forgotten how protective parents were. Especially elves. He briefly wondered if he had made a fatal mistake, coming between an elf General and his child.
"SHUT UP, ELF-SCUM!" Dúnmod shouted back, landing a punch to the elf's jaw.
Daecrist's head snapped back from the sudden impact. He could care less. Right now, he was far beyond caring about the pain. Callon's safety was all that mattered now. He had to stop this adan from sending men out to find his son. If they found him, they could, no, they would, they would take him, and… he didn't want to think about what they could possibly do to Callon. But, how was he going to prevent the adan from organizing a search party? Daecrist had used all his arrows, and his only other weapon was a dagger which was, unfortunately, in its sheath, which was strapped to his broken leg, and under his horse. Daecrist's mind was racing furiously for an answer to the point where he was almost certain that he could smell smoke. The adan stood up with a smirk, scanning the field for any of his soldiers. If Daecrist didn't act now, his ion was as good as found.
Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention. The arrow sticking out of his horse's chest had gone in at an angle, and there was a possibility that he could just reach it. Daecrist leaned forward as far as his injuries allowed. His fingertips brushed against the flights of the arrow. He leaned forward even farther. Callon's fate now stood on the edge of a knife, if he didn't get this arrow… he didn't want to think about what could happen, but try as he might, he couldn't keep the horrific images from popping up in his mind. Finally, he grabbed onto the arrow.
"Saes goheno-nin, old friend..." Daecrist whispered, before yanking the arrow out of his horse.
Dúnmod tensed as he heard the unmistakable creak of a bow being drawn. He turned around. There was the elf, with his bow drawn, and a bloody arrow aimed right at Dúnmod's throat. Dúnmod laughed.
"What do you think you're going to do with that bow, elf?" His laughter died quickly as the elf gave him a glare that would've made an orc freeze in their tracks. To hell with that. That glare was enough to make Morgoth himself hesitate. Dúnmod gulped. He had definitely made a mistake when he made the choice to drag the elf's brat into this.
"I'm going to use this bow to put this arrow through your throat, adan. Did you really think I would allow you to harm my child without fighting back? You've made your last mistake, mellon. You've killed your last victim."
"If everything I've heard about the warriors of Doriath is true, it's against your code to kill an innocent and unarmed man..." Dúnmod countered, unable to keep his voice from trembling.
"You're no innocent. And I wouldn't consider a knife thrust through the back of your belt as 'unarmed'." Dúnmod's eyes widened. Algar's knife. He never thrust it through his belt! How did it get there? All of a sudden, a sinister laugh echoed in his head. A laugh he knew all too well.
"This is my revenge." A sing-song voice said sweetly, blending in with the insane laughter. "This is my revenge!" Dúnmod had never believed in ghosts. He wasn't so sure now.
"Algar, please don't do this." Dúnmod mentally screamed for mercy.
"Why? You never pitied me when you did me in, scum. Why shouldn't I do the same to you?"
"I killed you because you were weak, and I was-"
"And you were stronger? Only a coward kills his opponent when they can't fight back, craven! I hope you enjoy a taste of your own medicine!"
"Algar, please, no!" The last thing Dúnmod felt was a sharp pain just above his collarbone, and then… darkness.
Daecrist collapsed backwards in exhaustion, relieved that Callon was safe. For now at least. Also, because that dangerous adan was dead, and wouldn't harm another innocent again. His entire life flashed before his eyes. The day he got stuck up in a tree during a thunderstorm, his Adar climbed up to rescue him, and his Naneth tackled them both in a massive hug as soon as they both were safely on the ground. The day his parents died. His older brother comforting him during a thunderstorm, as he had always been afraid of thunder. His older brother saving his life, and giving up his own in the process. The day he had saved Eleithel's life. The disaster that had been his first date with Eleithel. Their wedding day, which had also been the day he threw up for the first time. Holding Callon just an hour after he had been born, wishing that his parents and brother could've been there.
His mind once again went back to his thoughts about his family. He wasn't very good at praying, but he prayed with all his heart that Eleithel and Callon would be alright, should he not return. He didn't know if the Valar were listening. Perhaps they only listened to those who prayed every other minute. But… maybe, just maybe… they could hear him.
Alquawen, Maewen, and Eleithel sat side-by-side in the carriage as they raced down the road to Nargothrond. Luckily, they weren't alone. They had been able to convince Aearon to send a band of healers to the marchwardens, as well as supplies. In fact, he had come with them himself, and was also able to get a troop of Cadets to help defend the group, should anything happen.
Alquawen fingered the short sword that she had dug out of Beleg's stachel at her home. Although they were only going for medical purposes, they weren't taking any chances. She glanced over at Maewen. The apprentice sat there, staring at her brother's spare twin knives that she held with trembling hands.
"I'm not brave enough." she whispered so quietly, that Alquawen and Eleithel had to strain their already sensitive ears to hear her. Maewen looked over at them with terrified eyes. "I know we're not going over to fight, but if it comes to it… I-I don't think I'd be able to do it." Eleithel quietly stood up and placed her hands on Maewen's shoulders.
"Do you really think any of us are? Only fools are not afraid to fight. I still have nightmares of battle. Daecrist does too. We've always been afraid to fight. Everyone is. Even the most seasoned warriors, soldiers, and marchwardens are afraid to fight, because you can never predict what's going to happen. However, the courage to fight for what you care about, and what you believe in exists in everyone, even you. You have the courage to stand up, and fight for those you care about, Maewen. I'm sure of it." Maewen returned Eleithel's confident gaze with a shaky smile.
"Hannon-le, mellon-nín."
Alquawen couldn't help admiring Eleithel. The retired marchwarden had donned her old gear before joining them in the carriage. She looked every bit like the formidable fighter all the marchwardens said she was. Her marchwarden's uniform was several different shades of green and brown, helping her to blend in with the flora around her, her long chestnut hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and she had several small, gleaming throwing knives thrust through her belt. It was hard to believe that this warrior-queen that stood before them was their herb-collector.
As impressive as Eleithel looked, it wasn't her looks that Alquawen admired. It was her self-control. Eleithel was like a river, calm on the surface, but turbulent below the serene façade. Alquawen could tell that even though Eleithel kept a calm and level head, she was frantic with worry for her husband and child. Eleithel sat down beside her, staring vacantly at the floor. Her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Alquawen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"It'll be alright." she murmured quietly. Eleithel gave her a small, but grateful smile.
"Aye, it will be.'' Although she didn't show it, Eleithel was terrified. She already dealt with nightmares about her fallen comrades. She didn't need nightmares of Callon and Daecrist. She hadn't been lying when she told Maewen that she and Daecrist suffered nightmares. Sometimes, they'd wake up in the dead of night, crying and screaming. They would then do their best to console each other, two shattered fae trying to heal the other. In fact, Eleithel had woken up from a nightmare last night. Luckily, she hadn't woken up Callon with all the fuss, however, she had woken up Daecrist.
He didn't say anything. He just held her, gently rocking her back and forth, until the tears stopped, and she fell asleep. She didn't need to tell him that happened. He already knew, and understood.
It was strange. Had she admitted that she and Daecrist had nightmares to someone who only knew them as marchwardens, they wouldn't have believed it. Although they hadn't meant to, Eleithel and Daecrist had accidently created a reputation for themselves as fearless warriors by their deeds in battle. Most of the Iathrim didn't know who they really were. Thankfully, things had quieted down for Eleithel since she retired. Daecrist, on the other hand, was a different matter. When people heard the name "Daecrist Gaeredhelion'' they all thought of that elf General in Pessmenel, the tiny province of Doriath, between the River Aros and the River Celon, the closest province to Nan Elmoth. They only saw him as a fearless and invincible warrior. Only Eleithel, Callon, and a few close friends saw him as who he truly was; a loving father and husband, who enjoyed carving, reading, horseback riding, and joking around with his wicked sense of humor. But most importantly, he loved spending time with his family. It didn't matter what they were doing. They could be going on a family horseback ride, taking a walk, or, they could be doing nothing. Just simply being together was enough.
Whenever he left to go on a mission, Daecrist would promise her that he'd do everything in his power to return to her. He knew he couldn't promise the impossible. Despite what people said about him, Daecrist had always accepted the hard fact that he wasn't made of mithril. He could be broken. He could be killed. But this mission was different. He didn't give her his usual promise. Instead, he had promised her that he'd fight to the death to ensure Callon's safety if it came to it.
"Bring him home with you. Saes." she whispered into his ear as he held her in a gentle embrace.
"Don't worry about him, Erbraig-nín. If anyone even dares lay a hand on him, it'll be over my dead body. I promise."
Eleithel fervently prayed that she would find Callon, and Daecrist's living body.
Culdôr fought wildly. He couldn't die. He'd made a promise to Maewen. A promise he couldn't break. But the edain were overwhelming him. Before he could make another move, an adan kicked his legs out from underneath him. Both of his knives flew out of his grasp, as he landed hard on his back.
This was it. Beleg and Mablung weren't there to save him this time.
"I'm sorry, Maewen. Saes goheno-nín. I love you!" Culdôr didn't wait to hear Maewen's response. He just blocked their bond as quickly as possible. He didn't want her to feel this. He had gotten badly injured before, and the guilt of knowing that his little gwathel shared his pain was far worse than any form of pain he had ever felt. The least he could do was prevent her from feeling the blow that would end his life. It was his duty to protect her. To Culdôr, the duty of an older gwanûr was far more important than the duty of a marchwarden.
Éadgel watched in horror as his kin knocked down the strawberry-blonde elf. He had watched them kill other elves, but this was the first time he had come to this realization. That elf was someone's son. Someone's brother, either by blood or by choice. Someone's best friend. Someone's sweetheart. For all he knew, that elf could be someone's husband. Someone's father. Someone's grandparent even. It was impossible to tell how old an elf was by just looking at them. Éadgel just couldn't watch this happen. He had to do something
Culdôr braced himself, waiting for the adan's sword to come down. Suddenly, there was a loud hissing noise. An arrow? Had Beleg come just in the nick of time? He opened his eyes, and froze. The flights on that arrow weren't elvish. The edain stared at the murderer in shock. Culdôr looked behind him. A young adan placed a crossbow on the ground, and then drew his sword. This ranger had saved him? Why?
"TRAITOR!" one of the edain screamed. "Look at what you've done!"
"As if what he was about to do was any better!" the ranger yelled back, indicating to the fallen adan.
"Get him!" the angry adan yelled in fury.
Culdôr went completely ignored as the edain raced over to the ranger. He made a mental note to include a side note on the short attention span of edain in his field journal.
"And," Culdôr thought to himself as he watched the ranger fight, "a side note of their unexpected behavior." He quickly gathered up his fallen weapons, and sprinted over to help who he hoped was a new friend.
Éadgel braced himself as his ex-comrades rushed at him. He wished there could've been another way to save the elf's life. He also wished he could get out of this mess alive. He had seen these men fight, and he knew that they were stronger, heavier, taller,and far more experienced than he was. They had all the advantages. And they were fueled by their anger. The only thing he had was that he was quicker. Or, at least he hoped he was. However, his chances of winning a fight against these men were slim.
He jumped quickly as someone swung a sword low, attempting to ground him. Permanently. Éadgel raised his sword, blocking two swords whose wielders were trying to take off his head. Another one of his new enemies rushed at him, sword raised, going in for the kill. Éadgel knew he wasn't going to get out of this one. He closed his eyes, and hoped that his mother and brother would be able to go on without him.
But the sword never came. He opened an eye. The approaching man had fallen face first in the dirt, an elven dagger sticking out of his back. The strawberry-blonde elf had become like some ancient god of war, wreaking havoc among the men. Éadgel fell backwards, kicking at his opponents' legs in an attempt to trip them. It was a rare sight, edhel and adan fighting side by side. Éadgel looked around in stunned silence. In a few short moments, they had managed to kill all of their opponents. The strawberry-blonde elf suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, and pulled him behind a large stone sticking out of the ground.
"Why'd you help me?" he whispered as soon as they were out of sight. Éadgel's eyes widened.
"You can speak Westron?" Éadgel whispered back, stunned, and momentarily ignoring the elf's question. "I thought the elves only spoke their own language."
"Aye, I can. And so can some of the others. I ask you again, adan, why did you help me?"
"Because it was the right thing to do." Éadgel replied after some consideration. "I didn't sign up for this so I could take the lives of others." the elf nodded in understanding. "What's your name?" Éadgel asked after a few moments of silence.
"Culdôr." the elf answered. "What's yours?"
"Éadgel."
"You realize that once your people find out you killed your own, they'll condemn you." Culdôr pointed out. Éadgel winced. How was he going to support his family now? "Why are you here, anyway?" Culdôr asked suddenly in confusion. "You're awfully young to be out here on a battlefield."
Before Éadgel knew what he was doing, he was telling Culdôr everything. About his father's death. About how he was left to take care of his family. About how he signed up for this mission because Algar had promised that all the men would get a share in the profits (although he never was told what the profits were).
"Éadgel, what are you doing?!" the voice in his head snapped. "You've only just met this elf. Why on this good green earth are you telling him all your problems? He could turn you over to either side at any minute! Worse yet, he could kill you when you least expect it." Culdôr, however, made no move. He just listened.
"You need to get out of here unnoticed, mellon." Culdôr said thoughtfully. "I'm willing to help you." Éadgel was stunned.
"Culdôr...why? You have no allegiance to my people."
"You're right, Éadgel, I don't. But you saved my life. I owe you that much." Éadgel was touched by this unlikely gesture of kindness. Maybe he'd get back to his family after all.
"I have an idea." Culdôr stated suddenly. Éadgel listened intently. "Clean your sword." Although confused by the command, Éadgel did as he was bidden. He had a feeling that Culdôr was one smart elf. Perhaps his plan would work. Culdôr pulled a clean dagger from his boot, and carefully sliced his palm.
"Culdôr! What on earth?" Éadgel yelped in horror when he noticed the blood quickly staining the elf's hand.
"Oh, knock it off. Pass me your sword, will you?" Bewildered, Éadgel passed the marchwarden his sword. Then, to his astonishment, Culdôr smeared his blood on the blade. It all became as clear as day. His sword had been covered in the dark blood of his kin. Now, it was stained bright scarlet; elf blood. His sword would've given him away.
"There." Culdôr murmured, once the bloody deed was done. "Now, it looks like you were killing elves rather than your own people." he said as he passed the blade back to Éadgel. "Now, here's the plan..."
An adan fell, pierced by an arrow, as he tried to sneak up on an unsuspecting elf. Mablung whirled around, firing arrows with expert marksmanship that was nearly as good as Beleg's. He scanned the battlefield for about the second hundredth time that day. Still no sign of Beleg, Culdôr, Daecrist, or Callon. He shouted their names. No answer. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a certain knife thrower, chasing an adan.
"Culdôr!"
Éadgel sprinted into the forest with Culdôr hot on his heels. He hoped this plan would work. According to Culdôr's plan, he was supposed to run into the forest, trip, and fall to the ground. Culdôr would then "kill" him, and Éadgel would scream and "die" in response. Once the coast was clear, Culdôr would give him a signal, and then, Éadgel would start the long journey home, approaching his village from behind, in case anyone came to inform the villagers of his "death" or, if anyone suspected that he had deserted.
"Now!" Culdôr whisper-shouted after they were well into the foliage. The plan was quickly put into action. Éadgel fell to the ground, and Culdôr was soon on top of him, pretending to thrust a bloodstained knife into the ranger. Éadgel's scream echoed throughout the forest, unintentionally catching the attention of other edain nearby. Fortunately for Éadgel, Culdôr made short work of them.
Mablung heard the scream. He ran faster, praying that Culdôr was alright, swearing to all the Valar that if his friend was hurt, he'd kill the one responsible. Then kill Culdôr for being reckless. Speaking of killing his friend, he'd have to find Beleg so he could kill him for the same reason. And Daecrist… he had a feeling that Eleithel would take care of killing him.
"You're clear, Éadgel. Now get moving." Éadgel sat up, and checked himself over to make sure he was prepared for the journey.
"Hannon-le, mellon." Culdôr looked up in surprise.
"You know elvish?"
"Not much." Éadgel admitted with a small smile. "A trader from Nargothrond was found badly wounded on the road to my village when I was a child. He recovered there, and kept himself busy by teaching the village children how to speak a little bit of elvish." Culdôr chuckled quietly.
"Well, I can tell you right now that I know many elves who can't simply just do nothing for extended periods of time." They were both silent after that.
"Best of luck." Culdôr said softly.
"You too." Éadgel replied with a pang of guilt, as he realized that Culdôr could very well be executed as a traitor if anyone found out that he had helped an enemy. "And…." Éadgel said suddenly as Culdôr started to leave. "Please don't get in trouble on my account." Culdôr turned to face him.
"I thought about the possible consequences when I decided to help you, mellon." Éadgel was stunned. Culdôr had known the possibility that he could be condemned as a traitor, and decided to help him anyway? "And I can tell you now..." Culdôr said with a small, but genuine smile "... if I get executed, then at least I'll know it was for a cause I believed was right, and know I won't regret. Are you alright?" Éadgel nodded, as he wiped a few tears away.
"Aye, I'm alright. This is just the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me." All of a sudden, Culdôr caught him off guard with a hug.
"You deserve it." He said gently, as Éadgel hugged him back.
"If you ever stop by Argare Village, don't think twice about asking someone where I live. You're always welcome to stay awhile." Éadgel told his new friend, hoping that he'd see the elf again one day.
"Éadgel, I'll promise you right now that I'll take you up on that offer one day." Culdôr replied with a grin.
"Navaer." Éadgel murmured sadly, but Culdôr shook his head.
"No, not navaer. Just 'see you later'."
With that, the two friends departed, going separate ways. However, both had high hopes of seeing each other again one day.
Mablung raced through the forest, issuing some very… colorful… curses to the Valar, swearing that he'd never forgive himself if Culdôr had been killed. He was running so fast, he was completely oblivious to all his surroundings. He raced onwards, before crashing into someone. Being the courteous elf he was, Mablung quickly picked up the other elf.
"I'm so sorry! I'm looking for a friend. Have you seen-Culdôr!" He cried, practically squeezing all of the air out of the other elf's lungs in a crushing hug, for the elf he had knocked down was, in fact, Culdôr.
"Let go, Mablung you sap!" Culdôr choked out with a grin. He couldn't deny the fact that he was overjoyed to see his friend. Speaking of friends…
"Where's Beleg?" Culdôr asked suddenly once Mablung had released him from the embrace.
"I hoped he was with you." Mablung said with a grimace. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of Daecrist or Callon either." Culdôr cursed quietly.
"I hope they're alright."
"Well, there's only one way to find out." Both marchwardens were about to make a solemn pact that they would not rest until their friends were found, when a young elven soldier raced over to them.
"Arafhind, what's wrong?" Mablung asked. He and Culdôr knew the ellon fairly well, as they had instructed Arafhind for a while.
"General Caranmîrion sent me to find the both of you. Daecrist's hên is missing, and we've managed to make the remaining edain retreat. General Caranmîrion wants Culdôr to search for Callon, and he wants Mablung to go with some others to pursue the edain."
"What about Beleg?" Culdôr questioned "He's the better tracker. Why doesn't General Caranmîrion send Beleg to search for Callon?" Mablung wished Culdôr would not use this tactic to find Beleg. General Caranmîrion would have Culdôr's head for not obeying orders if he didn't play this dangerous game right. Arafhind looked down at his boots.
"That's the problem. We don't know where Beleg is." Both Mablung and Culdôr felt like they had been punched in the chest by a troll. No one had seen Beleg?
"What about General Gaeredhelion?" Mablung finally managed to ask, although his mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Arafhind's expression darkened.
"I like this just about as much as the two of you will." Both marchwardens listened intently. Arafhind took a deep breath before continuing. "General Gaeredhelion's horse fell on top of him at the beginning of the battle, but General Caranmîrion said to leave him and continue fighting."
"He sent no help at all?!" Culdôr shouted, letting his emotions get the best of him. Arafhind unconsciously backed away a little as Mablung's expression became equally stormy. "He'll be killed for Manwë's sake!"
"I know!" Arafhind choked through silent tears. Mablung, Culdôr, Beleg, and Daecrist had trained him when he first joined the army. Although the three marchwardens were closer in age to him, Arafhind had ultimately grown closer to Daecrist over the years, looking up to the General almost like a son would look up to a father.
"He's more concerned about losing a peace sign, rather than losing a loyal General and his child. When he ordered me to find the two of you, he told me to tell Culdôr to 'find the peace sign.' He didn't even recognize that our 'peace sign' has a name, and is another edhel. And a child no less!" Arafhind's expression grew more pained with each passing word.
"We're going to do something." Mablung growled. "General or not, Thoronmîr can't just do this."
"Aye." Culdôr agreed firmly. "We're going to do something alright." He placed a hand on Arafhind's shoulder, training his confident gaze on the anxious ellon. "And we're doing something together." Arafhind dried his eyes, and then looked up at his friends with grim determination.
"Agreed. What's our course of action?"
"That's your cue, O clever one." Mablung said sarcastically, lightly elbowing Culdôr in the ribs.
"Very funny." Culdôr said with a grunt, although he was grateful that Mablung was trying to lighten the mood. "However, I might just have an idea."
"What is it?" Arafhind asked, eager to find a way to help Daecrist, Callon, and Beleg.
"I'll tell you, once Mablung decides to stop being sarcastic. Isn't that right, O bane-of-my-existence?"
"I'll only stop being sarcastic when you stop, hypocrite." Mablung retorted with a snort.
"Fair enough. Now, first things first. Arafhind, does Thoronmîr expect you to report back to him?"
"No." Arafhind answered. "He expects me to go to the back line."
"Good. Don't go there, instead, see if you can find Ruscdîr. Considering that he's Daecrist's Lieutenant, he should be loyal to him. Once you find him, convince him to go help Daecrist with you." Culdôr explained. Arafhind nodded in response.
"I have no doubt in my mind that Ruscdîr will help. He was against leaving Daecrist behind."
"Perfect." Culdôr said with a grim smile. "Ruscdîr has an air of command about him, so having him on our side will give us an advantage. Chances are he'll be able to get others to help. Mablung, you're going to do what Thoronmîr wants you to. When the edain start running, pursue them, but then turn into the woods, and look for Beleg. I'll do what he wants as well, and look for Callon. We could be court marshalled for this, so if either of you want to back out, leave now."
"I'm in." Mablung said firmly. "Just because Thoronmîr's a General doesn't mean he has the right to leave others to die."
"Agreed. He can't get away with these things for long." Arafhind's golden flecked brown eyes sparked as the words came out of his mouth.
"I guess this makes us gwedyr then." Culdôr said with a rebellious look in his eyes.
"Aye! Gwedyr to the end!" Mablung and Arafhind chorused together.
"What the hell were you thinking?" That was the only thought going through Beleg's head at the moment, as he clumsily parried away a sword with a fallen longsword he had picked up. Although he was trained, and although he hated to admit it, Beleg had never been very good with a sword. But now, there was no time to reflect on his training. The only thing he could do now was try to survive, as enemies closed in around him. Throwing all caution to the wind, Beleg raced into the woods, praying that he'd get cover there. The edain he had been fighting flew after him, dodging trees and bushes as they went. Beleg ran faster. On the ground, he had a disadvantage.
"In the trees, however..." he thought to himself as he ran, before launching himself into the nearest tree.
"Where'd that blasted elf go?" an adan asked when the posse had slowed to a stop, once they realised that the elf they had been chasing was no longer in sight.
"We lost him." the one who appeared to be second in command of the troop said glumly. Beleg held his breath from where he was carefully concealed among the branches. He said a quick and silent prayer to the Valar that the edain would believe that he had outrun them. Unfortunately, his prayer went unanswered.
"Yeh dolts know nothing of elfs!" the troop leader snapped, harshly shoving his second in command to the ground. "They's tree 'uggers! That blonde we was chasing is 'idin' somewheres!" Beleg couldn't help mentally correcting all of the man's grammar.
"Blast." he whispered to himself with alarm bells going off in his head, as he watched the leader load a crossbow. "I'm sorry." he murmured softly as he placed a hand on the tree's rough bark. "Saes goheno-nin."
"Don't say that, eryn hên. I shall protect you." the tree replied mentally to the elf.
"Hannon-le." Beleg responded mentally, just seconds before an arrow flew through the air, missing him by about twenty paces. The other edain quickly caught on, loosing arrows like their lives depended on it. Beleg winced as an arrow struck the tree next to him, wishing that he couldn't hear the tree's pained groan in his head. Another arrow pierced the branch he was crouched on, finding it's mark directly beneath his feet. Beleg's heart beat wildly. This was getting more dangerous with each passing second. Another arrow flew above his head, missing him by inches. The air in his lungs suddenly froze as he watched some of the edain prepare to burn him out.
"I should go." he thought to the tree. "I don't want any of you getting hurt." as he said this, an arrow whizzed up into the tree, grazing his cheek as it barely missed him.
Eleithel and Maewen looked up from their thoughts in alarm when Alquawen clapped a hand on her cheek with a small squeak.
"Alquawen, what's wrong?" Eleithel asked, raising her voice slightly so she could be heard over the whistling wind as the carriage raced onwards. The silver haired elleth looked up at her anxious friends with a joyful smile as well as grateful tears in her eyes.
"Beleg's alive."
"That might be for the best." the tree said thoughtfully. "May Nienna watch over you, eryn hên."
"Hannon-le, mellon." Beleg replied, before racing through the branches.
"Look!"
"There 'e is!"
"KILL 'IM!" the leader, Guthain, shouted, eager to have another dead elf on his kill record. The order only made his quarry run faster. The men fired arrows like mad at the archer sprinting through the trees, silently wondering how the elf was able to run on the thin branches.
Beleg ran faster than he ever had before, dodging all of the flying projectiles threatening to claim his life. He put on an extra burst of speed, and jumped to the next branch, using the branch he was on like a springboard.
The edain watched in astonishment as the elf vaulted off a branch, somersaulted through the air, and then landed on another branch with extreme agility.
"What in Angband are yeh all doin'?!" Guthain screeched "Kill that bloody elf!" Beleg ran even faster.
"Beleg! Beleg, are you alright?!" Alquawen's voice echoed in her brother's head. "Saes gwanûr, what's happening?"
"Alquawen! Al, I'm not trying to scare you, but things are pretty bad."
"Don't worry, we're com-"
"LOOK OUT!" The tree's scream resounded in the marchwarden's mind, just seconds before an arrow penetrated the thin branch he was running on. Beleg cried out in alarm and shock as the limb suddenly broke, sending him plummeting to the ground. Time seemed to slow as he fell, striking his head on a branch as he went.
Falling.
Trees crying out.
Falling.
Alquawen calling out his name in fear.
Falling.
Men laughing.
Falling.
Hard landing.
Beleg dizzily pulled himself to his feet, only to lean against a tree with a gasp as lightheadedness suddenly overcame him.
"What are you doing?!" Part of him screamed "Fight!"
"Too tired. Let me rest." The other part groaned. "Head hurts. Everything hurts. Let me rest."
"The only rest you'll be getting is death if you don't fight! Stand up! Pick up your sword!" He listened. Somehow, Beleg managed to pick up the sword, which had fallen on the ground not too far away from him.
Alquawen gave a small cry, nearly falling off the bench she was sharing with Eleithel and Maewen. Both ellith quickly caught her, steadied her, and then asked her if she was alright. Alquawen didn't answer. What was wrong with Beleg? Why was he so dizzy? Why did he suddenly have about the worst headache on the face of Arda?
"Beleg!"
Beleg swung the sword even more clumsily than before, as he shook his head, attempting to rid himself of his blurred vision, and the loud ringing in his ears. The loud noises of swords clanging together, Alquawen calling out to him, and screaming trees nearly made him cry. It hurt so much!
"Gwathel, please! It hurts..." Beleg managed to say to her, just before he deflected his opponent's sword, wincing sharply as the blow sent a jolt through his body.
Guthain watched the elf, cursing when he realized that the archer had taken out two more of his men. The elf was desperately fighting by instinct, making him far more dangerous than before. He let loose another curse when another one of his men fell just seconds later. His heart began to beat faster. He only had three men left.
Two.
One.
None.
He gnashed his teeth together in frustration. The men Dúnmod had assigned to him were useless! That blasted elf most likely had a concussion, and still beat all of them. He'd kill the elf himself.
Beleg could just barely see the adan running at him through trees, knife ready, going in for the kill. He held up the sword, ready to defend himself. The leader grinned evilly. In his confusion, the elf was holding the sword at an angle. And it was just the angle he wanted. Before Beleg knew what was happening, the adan had knocked the sword out of his hands, and gave him a sharp kick to the stomach that sent him careening backwards into a tree. A wicked smile quickly spread across the man's features as his knife went down in a gleaming arc.
The elf's scream echoed throughout the forest as the knife was suddenly buried up to the hilt in his left arm, pinning him to the tree behind him. The adan looked down at the wounded elf. Elves were supposedly creatures of grace and beauty, but with keen instincts and fighting skills. This elf now looked like the exact opposite, as he sat down on the ground, pinned to a tree, with blood running down his arm, trickling from a gash on his head, staining his blonde locks crimson, and slowly seeping from a cut on his cheek, allowing his blood to mingle with his tears. But the elf looked up at him in spite of the pain, green eyes burning with a strange light. A light that seemed to say one word; undefeated. The adan's wicked smile got wider.
Beleg looked at the man through blurred vision. The man wanted to kill him. Painfully. He wasn't strong enough to block the bond he shared with Alquawen. She'd feel everything.
"She's been through enough." Beleg thought to himself. "She shouldn't have to feel this."
Guthain was about to pull out another knife and kill the elf, when the elf murmured something in Sindarin. Was the elf trying to beg for mercy? Pathetic.
"If yer tryin' to say somethin' elf, say et in common tongue!" he snapped. The elf repeated whatever he said, in the common tongue, but the only word Guthain was able to catch was "sister". He knelt in front of the marchwarden, mockingly wiping a few of the elf's bloody tears away.
"So yer askin' me not to kill yeh 'cause yeh got a sister who needs yeh." he said with a snicker. "Aw, 'ow sweet." the elf met his gaze, eyes still burning with defiance. He pulled out two knives. Beleg noticed that one of the knives had several tally marks etched into the blade. "Yeh see that?" Guthain said with a smirk when he noticed that the elf had seen the marks. "That's 'ow many elfs I've killed." at this, the elf's eyes once again sparked with fury. Guthain gave a laugh, and then started scratching another tally into the blade with the other knife. He shoved it in the marchwarden's face with an insane grin on his face. "Oh look, there's yer mark elf!" Beleg turned his head away, refusing to look at the freshly cut scratch.
"He's mad. Absolutely mad." Beleg thought to himself. "He wishes a painful death for me. He wants to hear me scream. He won't get that satisfaction. Not again."
"Elfs are loyal from what I've 'eard." Guthain remarked offhandedly as he began to etch another tally. "Think yer sister will come?" he said with a wicked smirk. When Guthain looked into the elf's eyes, they were burning far more intensely. Burning with hate. Pure, raw, unadulterated hate.
"IF YOU TRY TO HARM MY SISTER, I'LL KILL YOU!" The elf yelled, struggling against the knife pinning him to the wood. Guthain's strike was so fast, Beleg didn't see it. He just felt the impact as the man slapped him across the face.
"I'd think et would be 'ard to kill me if yer dead." Guthain said with an overconfident laugh. Beleg's mind was racing. He had to stay alive. Alquawen needed him. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled an arrow out of his quiver with his good arm, and then picked up the black yew bow from where it was lying beside him. Every movement sent a jolt of pain up his arm, and to his head. The adan laughed.
"I'm so scared!"
Belg gripped the bow with his injured arm, wishing that he couldn't feel the pain that went along with it. Guthain threw one of his knives, only for Beleg to awkwardly dodge it. He quickly nocked the arrow to the bow, not wanting to meet Guthain's next knife. Another knife flew through the air, missing his head by just a few mere centimeters.
"Saes." he silently begged as Guthain let out a stream of profanities as he searched himself for another knife. "I know that you didn't work for Mablung, but please work for me. Saes." he closed his eyes, and pulled back on the string. "Saes." he released. "Saes."
A silvery hiss filled the air, followed by a strangled gasp, and then finally, the sound of someone hitting the ground. Beleg opened an eye, scarcely believing what he saw. The man lay on the ground, with one hand clutching at his throat, where an arrow had impaled him.
Beleg looked down at the bow in shock.
He tentatively pulled back the string. To his utter amazement, he was able to pull back the string as easily as if it were a twenty-weight bow. What was going on with this bow?
"Beleg?!" Alquawen's voice suddenly cried out in the abyss.
"Al?" Beleg thought back groggily. "Don't worry about me. 'M alright."
"No, Beleg. No you're not." Alquawen replied. "You're dizzy, and you can't move your left arm. Saes, gwanûr. Tell me everything."
"I fell out of a tree, hit my head, and was stabbed in the arm. I'm now pinned to a tree by the knife, and alone." He could feel his eyes getting heavier with each passing second.
"Stay awake." Alquawen said quickly. "You may have a concussion, so do not fall asleep."
"I'll try." Beleg responded, even though he knew that it would probably be a losing battle. For some reason, the blow to his head had made him much more tired than he had already been from fighting. How was he going to keep himself awake? His musing was suddenly cut off, when the blood running down his arm started to trickle down his hand and drip off his fingers. He grimaced as his hand was quickly stained scarlet. He needed to staunch the bleeding, and fast.
"Whatever you do, do not fall asleep." Alquawen's murmured reminder echoed softly through his mind. "And please don't remove the knife. You'll bleed out."
"I won't remove it… gwathel." As much as he knew he needed to stay awake, Beleg was beginning to lose consciousness. A warm and slightly fuzzy feeling suddenly penetrated his thoughts. A warm and fuzzy feeling he knew quite well. His crooked smile found its way onto his face as he sent back the same loving feeling back to his sister.
All of a sudden, another thing was sent through their bond, something bright. Like the sun. It shone clearly, making the dark threat of unconsciousness dissipate. Beleg suddenly found himself pushed back into awareness.
"Hannon-le." Was the only thing he could think back to Alquawen.
"Don't mention it." Although he could not see her, Beleg was positive that Alquawen was smiling.
Arafhind raced through the battlefield, scanning the area for Ruscdîr. It had been a while since he had last seen the Lieutenant. Anything could've happened. Right now, he could only hope that the worst hadn't. He continued through the field, looking for someone in the patrol who may know Ruscdîr's whereabouts. He stopped a soldier running past him.
"Excuse me, but have you seen Lieutenant Elgonion anywhere? The General wants him." The soldier looked at him in shock.
"Haven't you heard? Lieutenant Elgonion defected nearly an hour ago."
Arafhind gaped. Ruscdîr had rebelled?
"He ran past me muttering something about loyalty." the soldier continued. Arafhind nodded his thanks to the soldier and went forward, going back to his search. Fortunately, he had a fairly good idea where Ruscdîr went. He sprinted through the battlefield, praying that he was going in the right direction.
He raced onwards, away from the battle, when he reached where everything had first started.
The sight made him want to cry. Dead bodies were strewn across the area. Both edhil and edain alike. Why did blood have to be shed? Why did wars have to be waged? Why did living, breathing creatures have to hate one another? Why could peace be only a dream?
Arafhind took a deep breath to gather himself. Now was not the time to mourn over what had come to pass. Now was the time to do what was right. He scanned the field for Ruscdîr. He had to be here. Arafhind did not want to believe that Ruscdîr could've been killed. That his… his… never mind.
Suddenly, something caught his eye. A body laying on the ground suddenly moved slightly from where he was pinned to the ground by his horse.
Daecrist…
He quickly raced over to his fallen mentor. Hoping beyond hope.
Arafhind sighed in relief after quickly examining the General and taking his vitals. Yes, he was still alive. Just unconscious.
But where was Ruscdîr?
Arafhind scanned the plain once again, with a new perspective. Most of the carcasses were edain. Most of them had an arrow embedded in them. A black shafted arrow with dark blue fletching. Daecrist's arrows. Arafhind couldn't help giving a low whistle of admiration. Almost every arrow had met its mark. Suddenly, he noticed something intriguing. Daecrist's arrows weren't the only elvish arrows littering the area. There were others. Arrows with dark brown shafts and with red and yellow barred fletching. His heart skipped a beat. Every archer in Doriath was required to make their own arrows. The unique design that every archer came up with was completely original, and no two were alike. This provided an easier way to tell who an arrow belonged to. He knew those arrows all too well.
"Ruscdîr!" Arafhind shouted. "Ruscdîr, where are you?!"
No answer.
"Ruscdîr?!" Arafhind was on the verge of giving up, when he heard rustling in the surrounding foliage. "Ruscdîr?" The rustling continued until a red-headed ellon stumbled out of the woods. Arafhind sighed in relief. The Lieutenant had survived.
"Arafhind?" Ruscdîr's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He suddenly noticed the blood quickly staining the Lieutenant's side.
"Lieutenant Elgonion! You-you're hurt!"
"Knock it off, cousin. It's just a scratch." Arafhind's heart did a somersault, despite the despair surrounding them. They had been close once. Almost inseparable. Before the feud. The feud that tore their family apart. Resulting in their relationship being torn in two, through no fault of their own. They had not been allowed to interact with each other since. But when Arafhind joined the army, and Ruscdîr was assigned to help train him… they kept it secret, but still did as their families wished: not even acknowledged each other as cousin. Until now.
"Ruscdîr, you know we're not supposed to call each other that…" Arafhind murmured softly, even though he had been inwardly longing to be called that again.
"Frankly, Arafhind, I don't give a damn." Arafhind couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. His cousin hadn't changed a bit. "Now, let's help Daecrist." They both ran over to their friend.
"We're going to have to lift the horse off of him." Arafhind muttered. Ruscdîr nodded in agreement.
"I'll lift the horse up as far as I can. You pull Daecrist out."
"Ruscdîr, are you sure?" Arafhind asked, casting a worried look at his cousin's injury. Ruscdîr simply started to lift the animal. The younger soldier inwardly smiled. His cousin really hadn't changed. He was still as stubborn as a mule.
"Get your head out of the clouds, Arafhind!" Ruscdîr's strained voice brought him back to earth. Arafhind looked up, startled, and then quickly pulled the General out from under the horse. He drew in his breath sharply as he noticed how badly broken Daecrist's leg was. His attention was suddenly drawn to his cousin's heavy breathing.
"Ruscdîr, are you sure you're alright?" Arafhind couldn't help noticing the pained look evident in his cousin's eyes.
"Aye… I'm alright." Ruscdîr murmured. His voice was slightly slurred as he leaned against the horse. "Just… just help Daecrist." A quiet groan caught their attention. Relief washed over them both as their friend slowly came back to consciousness.
"Wh-where's Callon?" Arafhind and Ruscdîr looked at each other, unsure of how to say what needed to be said.
"We… we don't know." Ruscdîr replied softly. Daecrist's eyes widened. This was the first time either of the cousins had seen him look truly afraid.
"Culdôr's looking for him." Arafhind added. "We would've sent Beleg, but we can't find him either." Daecrist mumbled a curse.
"I-I hope that th-they're alright."
"I'm sure they will be." Arafhind said, trying to believe what he just said.
"They will." Ruscdîr said firmly, once again hiding his pain behind a mask of his own stubbornness and pride. "Callon and Beleg are survivors. I have know doubt in my mind that they'll be fine. Beleg's probably crushing some kill record and Callon's probably being smart and hiding." Arafhind could only hope that his cousin was right.
"Callon!" Culdôr shouted for about the fiftieth time that day. He looked around, once again calling the child's name. Where was he? He had to be alive. So far, Culdôr had found only broken twigs, stems, and trampled vegetation that suggested that someone had run through here. At first, he was fairly sure that he had been tracking an adan, but then he found a patch of wet dirt, and the footprints he had found in there weren't just edain prints. There was another set of prints that had been nearly covered. Whoever had made them was much lighter than the edain. Much lighter. And the footprints were far too small to be the prints of a full grown elf.
Now, he was positive that he was on the right track.
"Callon!"
Callon was on the verge of giving up hope. Perhaps no one was coming to look for him. Perhaps no one realized he was gone. But someone had to have seen what had happened. Someone must've seen General Lhûgrovalion pull him up onto his horse, and then witness what had happened after. It had all been so quick… someone must've been there… right?
The Nargothrondian stirred slightly. Callon looked at him anxiously. Instead of waking up however, the Nargothrondian only slipped even further into unconsciousness. The elfling heaved a sigh. How long would it take for his new friend to wake up? How long until someone found them? How long until his friend got help? He felt so alone…
He squirmed, just to move. His parents had told him that if he ever got lost, he should stay put. But what if he was lost with someone who needed medical attention? Surely, he'd be allowed to move then. He'd be allowed to move so he could get help.
But… which way was help?
He couldn't help it. He started to cry. He knew it was childish, but he just couldn't help it. His father was hurt. His friend was hurt. And on top of that, he was lost and couldn't help either of them.
Then, he heard it. Someone calling his name.
Callon perked up, hope returning. He listened intently, just to make sure that his ears hadn't been pulling tricks on him.
"Callon! Callon, where are you?" He knew that voice.
"Culdôr!" He never thought he'd be this happy to see his tutor. For a marchwarden, Culdôr was highly knowledgeable. He had been teaching Callon how to read and write for a few weeks now.
Like an answered prayer, Culdôr suddenly came crashing through the dense foliage like he was being chased by a pack of yrch. Culdôr looked around wildly, until his eyes rested on Callon. Before Culdôr could do anything, Callon raced over, threw his tiny arms around his mentor, and cried. Culdôr fell to his knees, holding the nearly hysterical elfling.
"Shhhhh. It's alright penneth, it's alright." Culdôr murmured gently, trying to console the child.
"My friend, he-he's hurt."
"What friend? Who are you talking-" Culdôr began, but stopped, numb with shock when he realized that there were carcasses littering the area. Callon pulled him over to the Nargothrondian.
"Is-is he okay?" Callon asked fearfully, hoping that the marchwarden had an answer.
"Ai, Valar…" Culdôr mumbled softly as he looked the Nargothrondian over. "I think so…" the terror in Callon's eyes seemed to evaporate. Culdôr quietly knelt beside the prone form, examining him. He then uncorked his water skin, and then carefully splashed some of the contents on the injured elf's face. Callon watched intently as the Nargothrondian stirred, and slowly regained consciousness.
"Wh-who are you?" He asked, looking around warily.
"A marchwarden of Doriath. I was sent to find Callon, and by the looks of things, we have you to thank for keeping him safe." Culdôr replied. "Who are you?"
"N-no one. An exile." Culdôr nodded cautiously. Although this elf had saved Callon's life, he still didn't know if he could be trusted.
"What's your name?"
"Mornar. Wh-what's yours?"
"Culdôr. Can you sit up?" Mornar grimaced as he attempted to pull himself into a sitting position. He gasped sharply in pain as he accidentally jostled his left leg. Culdôr quickly steadied him, carefully assessing the situation.
"Callon, run in the direction I came in, tell one of the Generals what happened, and let them know that I'm going to try getting Mornar over, but I may need help." He couldn't tell who's eyes got wider. Callon's or Mornar's.
"But Culdôr, wh-what about the edain?"
"They're in full retreat. It's safe for Callon to go, I promise."
"I'll be okay." Callon assured them, but both Culdôr and Mornar could see the doubt in his eyes. Mornar reached out to one of the carcasses with his good arm, and pulled a knife out of the adan's neck, before wiping it off and handing it to Callon.
"Y-you may need it." He stated simply. Callon grinned a little, took the knife, and scurried off in the direction Culdôr came in. "He-he's a brave elfling. His parents must be p-proud of him."
"Aye, they are." Culdôr murmured quietly, his thoughts going to Daecrist, Eleithel, and Callon's happy family. He quickly snapped his attention back to Mornar. "We need to do something about that arrow." Culdôr said softly, indicating the shaft embedded deeply in the swordsman's leg. Mornar's eyes widened in fear.
"D-don't. It-it's barbed." Culdôr's eyes widened in return. Barbed arrows were considered inhumane in Doriath. They didn't even use them on orcs.
"Are you sure?" Culdôr stammered, praying that Mornar was mistaken.
"I-I'm positive." Mornar replied, with sad certainty shining in his eyes. "I-I pulled on it, a-and it-it…" he paused, breathing heavily, too tired to continue. Culdôr's mind was racing. Mornar was hurt far worse than he had originally thought. He needed medical attention, and fast.
"Don't try to talk." Culdôr said "Save your strength. We still need to try to get back."
"I-I'm sorry that I d-didn't say anything earlier I-I didn't want… want…"
"You didn't want to scare Callon." Culdôr finished gently. "Now, please try to rest a little. You're going to need the strength to walk. You're a bit taller than I am, and I'm not strong enough to carry you. I'm… I'm afraid I'll only be able to assist you." Mornar nodded wearily in understanding.
"H-hannon-le." Mornar murmured softly before passing out again.
"Perhaps that's for the best." Culdôr thought to himself. "I can do what needs to be done, and he won't feel a thing." In order to help Mornar, he'd have to support him from his left side, so he wouldn't further injure the swordsman's right shoulder. However, by doing so, he would bump against the arrow in Mornar's leg… unless he broke the shaft…
He dug through his first-aid kit, until he found what he was looking for. Then, he carefully shoved a handful of pain-killing herbs into Mornar's mouth (in case he did feel it, and woke up). Culdôr pulled out one of his knives, and began to saw the shaft in half, as gently as possible. Mornar suddenly awoke with a start, his scream muffled. Culdôr quickly moved to restrain him.
"Mornar, it's alright! Just eat those herbs, okay?" the exile's pained violet eyes flickered slightly in recognition.
"E-Eru above," he spluttered, gagging slightly after choking down the herbs "what in Arda was that?!"
"Only the foulest tasting painkillers I could find, just for you, mellon." Culdôr replied with a smirk, as he finished sawing through the arrow.
"How very kind." Mornar replied dryly, unable to keep himself from returning Culdôr's grin. Culdôr looped Mornar's left arm over his shoulders, and hauled him to his feet. The Nargothrondian swayed slightly despite the support. After a few minutes however, he regained his balance. Culdôr sighed in relief.
"What?" Mornar asked.
"I cut the shaft correctly." Culdôr smiled. "I was afraid I messed it up. But thankfully, I didn't. It's short enough that I don't bash into it, but it's long enough so the healers can still remove it. Now, shall we get going?"
"Aye, let's make tracks." Slowly but surely, the pair carefully made their way through the woods.
Arafhind rubbed his temples, fighting off an oncoming headache. Things had gotten a bit better, this was true; the edain had retreated and the medical team had gotten there, and were currently taking care of the injured marchwardens and soldiers. But there was still no sign of his gwedyr, Beleg, or Callon. And on top of all that, Ruscdîr seemed to be getting worse, Daecrist had gone delirious, and was constantly asking for Callon. Now, the cousins were keeping their General as calm as possible until a healer came over. But keeping a frantic parent calm is never easy.
"Wh-where's Callon?" Daecrist asked again, despite the fact that he had asked the same question about fifteen minutes ago.
"He… he's around… somewhere." Ruscdîr replied, giving Daecrist an encouraging smile, even though the unspoken 'I hope' hung in the air. Daecrist nodded slightly, and then relaxed.
"Please let a healer come over. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease." Arafhind mentally begged. He didn't know how long he and Ruscdîr could keep Daecrist calm. Valar, he didn't even know how long it would be until Ruscdîr's strength failed him. "It's just a matter of time." He realized as he noticed Ruscdîr sway slightly out of the corner of his eye, as Daecrist started getting restless. Suddenly, his prayers were answered, and a healer came racing over.
"Thank the Valar." He murmured.
Callon raced onwards, crashing through the brush and brambles, going in the direction Culdôr came in. Thanks to his mentor, he now knew which way people who could help were.
"And," he mentally added, "I know which way Ada is." He made it to the clearing, hoping, praying that the first thing he'd see was his Adar. But the first thing he saw was General Lhûgrovalion's unseeing eyes staring straight at him. Callon screamed, stumbling backwards in horror at the sight. A Cadet heard him and came racing over.
"Hey, it's alright!" the Cadet exclaimed as Callon attempted to run away in his terror. Callon sniffled, looking up at the Cadet's warm brown eyes. Amazingly, the Cadet was completely unscathed. "You're General Daecrist's ion, aren't you?"
"Yes." Callon whispered. The Cadet gave him a smile that seemed to say that everything would be fine.
"Well then, let's find him." Callon tiredly stumbled over to the Cadet, who scooped him up, and began to carry him away from the corpse. "So, what's your name, penneth?" Callon didn't know why, but there was something about this Cadet that made him feel safe. As if it wasn't this Cadet's first time carrying an elfling.
"Callon. What's your's?"
"Faron." the Cadet replied with a gentle smile. Callon rested his head against Faron's shoulder in exhaustion, allowing himself to relax a little.
Faron smiled slightly as Callon started to drift off to sleep.
"He's so much like Alagos." he thought to himself as Callon's eyes finally closed.
Arafhind and Ruscdîr did their best to help the healer get Daecrist into a stretcher. The General bit his lip till he tasted blood. He would not cry out, he would not cry out, he would not…
Ruscdîr winced sympathetically. His friend was doing his very best to keep a brave face. They had been captured by orcs once. They were nearly broken by the experience. During the ordeal, Daecrist had admitted to him that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to watch Callon grow up. That he wouldn't be able to help Eleithel raise their infant child. That he was afraid for his family's future. Ruscdîr remembered that he had said that anyone would be frightened with a nervous laugh. That day was the first and only time he had ever heard Daecrist scream. After they had been rescued, the General had confided in his Lieutenant that he would never show weakness again.
Ruscdîr had a funny feeling that that oath would be broken today. He suddenly noticed Arafhind's eyes widen. Ruscdîr looked in the direction Arafhind was staring in and gasped.
A dark haired Cadet was coming their way… holding Callon.
Arafhind sprinted forward, leaving his cousin to the mercy of the healer.
"Dear Valar, please let Callon be alright!" He mentally cried as he skidded in the grass to a halt.
"Callon! Is-is he…?"
"He's alright." The Cadet replied calmly. Arafhind sighed in utter relief. "He's just tired and scared." He said with a slight smile. "In short, he wants his Adar."
"And his Adar wants him." Arafhind said, indicating to Daecrist. Faron nodded.
"Echuia, penneth." He whispered softly, as he gently shook the sleepy elfling. "We found your father." As soon as Callon heard the word 'father', he was suddenly wide awake.
"ADA!"
Daecrist knew that voice. That sweet, loving voice. He quickly sat up in the stretcher, delirium vanishing as he ignored both the pain, as well as Ruscdîr and the healer's protests.
Where was Callon?
Daecrist was positive that he heard- there!
Before Daecrist knew what was happening, his ion was in his arms, faster than he could say jackknife.
"Ada! Ada, are you alright?!" Callon sobbed into his father's chest, clinging to him tightly. Daecrist didn't even care that tears were streaming down his own face, as he held his child close to him.
"I am now."
The soldiers and marchwardens gazed silently upon the sweet reunion. It was a strong reminder for them all that in troubled times like these, the importance of family and fellowship grows to a maximum. For when things go wrong, one can always find the light in the bonds of family and friendship.
Wow, that took me a REALLY long time to post… sorry about that…
And I PROMISE that the next chapter will wrap up this battle, and that the next chap will be MUCH shorter.
Hope you all liked it! :)
(Elvish translations below:))
Adan = man
Edain = men
Penneth = young one
Mellon = friend
Mellon-nín = my friend
Adar = father
Echuia = wake up
Elleth = elf (female)
Yrch = orcs
Ellon = elf (male)
Edhil = elves
Mae govannen = well met (usually said as a greeting)
Ellyn = elf (male ; plural)
Ion = son
Saes = please
Goheno-nin = forgive me
Naneth = mother
Hannon-le = thank you
Fae = soul/spirit
Iathrim = people of Doriath
Erbraig-nín = my wild one
Gwathel = sister
Gwanûr = brother
Edhel = elf
Navaer = farewell (Sindarin) {Namárië is Quenya. Márienna is another way to say "farewell" in Quenya. Huh. Who knew? I literally didn't know this until I looked it up in ambar-eldaron's Quenya-English dictionary. They have a Sindarin-English dictionary too. To be fair, I didn't even know that "farewell" in Sindarin was Navaer until I looked that up as well, lol. Highly recommend both dictionaries!}:)
Hên = child
Gwedyr = sworn brothers (gwador is singular)
Eryn = forest
Ellith = elf (female ; plural)
Ada = Dad/Daddy