Cúthalion Chapter 8: 7: Secret of Nargothrond, a silmarillion fanfic

Chapter 7: 6: Secret of Nargothrond

Hi, y'all! I'm back again!

Hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

(WARNING! VERY ANGSTY CHAPTER WITH LOTS OF PTSD (poor Mornar), SOME MENTIONS OF PAST ABUSE, AND IMPLIED RAPE. PLEASE BE CAREFUL...)

Faron quietly stared into the leafy green canopy, his dark eyes lazily tracing the branches above him, the sharp roots of the tree digging into his shoulder blades. A small frown crept across his face. He wondered how Alagos was doing. He was only a little thing, his little brother; not even six summers old. When the cadets had been called upon to guard the healers, he'd been forced to leave his brother with a neighbor. He shook his head, trying to get the memory of his brother's voice out of his head.

"'Ron? 'Ron? Where are you going? Can I come?" The young hên asked, tightly clinging to his brother's leg.

"Not now, Alagos! I'll be back soon, don't worry." He replied gently as he pried the elfling off his leg. A few tears rolled down Alagos' still pudgy cheeks.

"Don't leave! Not like Nana an' Ada!"

"No! I'm not leaving you like that!" He almost hollered as he knelt in front of his little brother, staring into a pair of brown eyes that were so much like his own. "I won't leave you that way, I promise." He whispered as he wiped his brother's tears away. "No more crying." He smiled. Alagos sniffled.

"No more tears." He finished, trying to smile. Faron held his brother close.

"I'll be back before you know it."

A tear trickled down his cheek. Valar, the memories were sharp in his mind, sharper than he wanted them to be.

The sound of battle nearly drowned out his brother's cries as the orcs destroyed everything in their path. He raised his sword, blocking a blow that would've killed both him and Alagos had he not reacted in time. He felt a hand shove him forward. His mother's hand. Their father was behind her, acting as a rear guard as Faron hacked their way forward. Alagos screamed as an orc raced towards them. Although she only had one of her kitchen knives, their mother made short work of it, refusing to allow the foul creatures to harm her children.

"Keep going. Keep going. Almost there!" His mind screamed as they neared the wood. He didn't know what happened next. A sharp pain exploded in his arm as something knocked him to the ground. He rolled over onto his back, blocking a scimitar with his sword. The orc took the opportunity, raced forward, and pinned their mother to the wall in an instant. The next second, an arrow went through the orc's skull. Their father's arrow. The orc fell, and their father was at their mother's side, trying to staunch the blood seeping from a stab wound in her stomach. There was an arrow sticking out of their father's calf. Faron felt like he couldn't breathe. His two-year-old brother was rigid with shock. The Cadet was brought to earth by his father's voice.

"NOR! NOR-SAES!" Tears trickled down both of their parent's faces as they looked helplessly at their children.

Faron swallowed thickly and obeyed, picking up his now shrieking brother, and racing towards the forest. By the time they reached an old abandoned talen about two miles away from the village, his legs and lungs were burning, and he was nearly blinded by tears. Somehow, he managed to scramble up the tree with his brother, whose wails had turned into silent screams. It wasn't until they were safe in the branches that Faron finally let his tears fall.

He silently rolled up his sleeve, revealing a scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. He didn't know how he managed to carry his brother for two miles three years ago. The blade had cut him to the bone. He sighed softly. Alagos had been far too young to watch his parents die. The aftermath of the situation had resulted in a fierce separation anxiety for the elfling, and night terrors for the both of them, to the point that the two brothers slept together. Faron couldn't count how many times he'd woken up in the middle of the night to his brother whimpering and kicking him in the stomach with his tiny feet. At first, Alagos would scream and cry until he eventually woke up, but now it had calmed down to the point that Alagos wouldn't wake up. That is, he wouldn't wake up if Faron acted quickly, stroking the elfling's hair, and holding him gently until the crying stopped.

"Mae-govannen!"

Faron nearly jumped out of his skin at the greeting. He looked behind him, the scar on his arm still visible. He nearly squawked in alarm when he saw exactly who it was: Maewen.

"Mae-govannen." He replied as he attempted to hide the scar. Her brow furrowed, and she knelt beside him, and pried his hand away. Not that it did much good to hide the scar in the first place. Her eyes carefully traced the old wound.

"Is it painful?" She asked; a true healer's apprentice.

"In a way." He replied after some consideration. She didn't say anything, but her hazel eyes already seemed to say that she understood what he meant.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice was soft. He didn't know what to say. It was the first time anyone had offered to listen. "You don't have to if you don't want to." She added quickly, taking his silence the wrong way.

"Orcs attacked my village three years ago. I took a sword to my arm during the fight." He indicated the scar as he spoke. "Both my parents were killed." The words felt acidic in his throat. "It's just me and my younger brother now." They were both silent. Inwardly, Faron was screaming, trying to figure out the confusion in his mind. Why did he tell her? He'd only met her yesterday. Why did he trust her? Why did he feel safe around her? He felt a hand on his shoulder, partially covering his scar.

"I'm sorry." She murmured gently, sitting down beside him. All was silent except for the trees' leaves rustling in the wind. Faron looked up and noticed a willow tree a few hundred yards away. Willow trees meant water. There had to be a river nearby. He closed his eyes and listened. Sure enough, he could faintly hear water softly tripping and falling over rocks. "My mother died in childbirth with me." She stated suddenly. He opened his eyes, and glanced towards her. Her eyes were downcast, trained on the light blue material of her dress. The breeze lightly blew a few strands of her strawberry-blonde hair out of the braided headband she always wore, keeping her hair out of her face. "My father ran off in grief soon after. I don't know where he is, or if he's even alive." Faron felt his heart go out to her. She never knew her parents. "My older brother raised me after that. He'd already reached his majority at that point."

"I'm sorry." He reached out, and lightly tucked some loose strands behind her ear. She blushed slightly.

"We should go back now." She said, looking up at him. "I don't know about you, but I have something I need to do."

"Aye. we're probably both being missed at this point." He rolled his sleeve back down, stood up, and offered her a hand. She accepted, and he pulled her to her feet. Not a word passed between them as they walked back to the camp. As soon as they reached the others, the masks they wore to cover up the pain were up, and no-one knew they both were hurting inside.

Daecrist squinted uncomfortably, the sunlight reflecting off the pages of the book he was reading, and bouncing right into his eyes. He huffed in frustration, tilted the book up, and craned his neck backwards across his pillow. Valar, how he hated being stuck in a cot! His broken leg had been reset, bandaged, put in a splint, and was now propped up on a thick (and unneeded) medical book covered by a towel or two.

"Eru curse it!" He swore under his breath, his eyes crossing, as he tried to focus on the words marching across the page.

"I didn't know you could read, Ada." Daecrist looked down by his waist, only to see Callon standing there with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Well, believe it or not, I can!" Daecrist smirked as he snapped the book shut. It was boring anyway. He'd borrowed it out of Eleithel's herb-collecting bag. It was an informational and educational novel on different herbs and their uses. Callon clambered up beside him, careful to avoid his father's injury.

"When are you going to be able to get up again Ada?" Callon asked, his green-tinged grey eyes screaming that he was dying to be able to go outside again with his father. Daecrist sighed.

"Whenever Aearon says I can, even though your Nana will probably insist that I stay in bed for an extra two weeks just to make sure." Callon frowned.

"When can we go play outside again? Nana said that even when you got up, I'd have to wait a little while." Daecrist sighed.

"Ion-nín, I'm afraid it might be longer than just 'a little while'. But I'll tell you what, while I might not be able to go and play with you, I'll be glad to walk around with you and watch." Daecrist could only watch as Callon's lower lip trembled slightly. He made a mental note to ignore some of Aearon's orders. He suddenly had an idea. "Would you like to learn how to carve?" Callon immediately brightened at the suggestion. His Adar had a wonderful gift; he could make a block of wood come to life with just a knife, a steady hand, and an artist's eye. His Naneth often joked that her husband should've been a carpenter instead of a General. Callon couldn't argue with her.

"Yes please!" He quipped, bouncing up and down a little in his excitement.

"Right, then! Could you give me a hand?"

"Of course, Ada! What needs to be done?" Callon asked eagerly. Daecrist looked around. Aearon and Eleithel were nowhere in sight. Perfect. He motioned for Callon to come a little closer.

"I need you to get that book out from beneath my leg." He whispered. Callon's eyes widened.

"But Ada! You're-"

"It'll be alright tithen-pen, just do as you're told, and it should all go smoothly."

Callon gulped as he moved towards his father's leg, as Daecrist kept watch, looking this way and that, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble. "Trouble" meaning Aearon and Eleithel. Especially Eleithel. If she saw what they were doing now… Daecrist didn't even want to imagine what would happen if his wife caught him disobeying strict orders. She'd also be infuriated when she found out that he was getting help from their son. He'd never hear the end of it!

"Easy does it…" He murmured as Callon began to tug the book out from beneath him.

His wooden brace hit the cot with a solid thunk, forcing him to bite back a cry. Apparently, his warning had gone unheeded.

"I-I'm sorry Ada! I didn't mean… I didn't mean to…" Callon wailed, almost dropping the book.

"It's alright Cal, it's alright. I know you didn't mean to do that. Put the book down there, okay? '' Callon did as he was told, slightly mystified. Daecrist pushed himself into a sitting position, and carefully swung his legs over the edge of the cot. He propped his leg up on the book with a smirk. "Aearon said I needed to keep my leg elevated, but he never said I had to be in bed to elevate it!" He patted on the bed, and Callon scrambled up beside his father. Daecrist reached over into Eleithel's bag, fishing around until he found a block of wood and one of his knives, which Eleithel always kept in her bag after a particular occurrence a few years back…

Drip…

The rain trickled steadily through a crack in the ceiling, landing right between Daecrist's eyes. He groaned a little as he woke up from a dreamless sleep. He blinked away the wet, and attempted to roll over. He gasped as the whip marks on his back burned intensely. He looked over at Ruscdîr, who was in the cot beside him. The Lieutenant was sound asleep, his once bloody red hair mussed up. The General frowned. There were small spots of blood seeping through his friend's bandages.

The orcs had not been kind.

Ruscdîr whimpered softly in his sleep. Daecrist reached out to his new friend, and lightly placed a hand on his arm. He seemed to calm down a little. The door opened, and an elleth darted out of the rain. He'd recognize the signature grey cloak anywhere. She spoke a few quiet words to the healer, and walked towards them.

"Hello, Elei." He mumbled, trying to smile a little. She smiled sadly, pulled at her cloak, and revealed a tiny baby in a sling around her body. His smile grew wider as he lightly grazed his knuckles against the soft cheek of the little miracle. "Hello, penneth." He whispered. Eleithel's lip quivered slightly. Last night had been the first time she and Daecrist had been forced to sleep apart since their marriage due to one of them being stuck in the healing ward. He reached up and placed a hand on her cheek, lightly running his thumb along her cheekbone. "It'll be alright." He murmured softly, earning a sad, but genuine smile.

"I know." She sighed, pulling a chair over so she could sit beside him. "You're bored aren't you?" She asked suddenly, noticing the blasé expression.

"Aye." He huffed. "When you and Callon aren't here, there's nothing to do other than count the cracks in the ceiling!" Eleithel tapped her chin in thought.

"I have an idea!" She suddenly announced, a broad smile soaring across her features. "Watch Callon." She called over her shoulder after placing the sleeping babe beside his father, and rushing back out into the wet. Daecrist could only blink in shock as it seemed that his wife was there and then gone again within a second. He wryly shook his head. He loved her, be it there were days when he just didn't understand her. Callon squirmed, catching his father's attention.

Daecrist slipped an arm around the child, preventing him from falling off the cot. The baby stuck out his little pink tongue, and opened his eyes. A smile crossed the General's face as he looked at his tiny son with pride. He was going to be something great one day, Daecrist was sure of it. Callon cooed softly, snuggling closer to his parent, having taken interest in his father's braids. Daecrist laughed softly.

"One day, tithen-pen, you'll be able to wear braids yoursel-ai!"Dacrist yelped as he carefully freed his hair from the baby's grasp. "And until then, no yanking mine!" He playfully growled, gently tickling Callon's belly. The baby laughed, unknowingly rousing the Lieutenant.

"Dae, can y-you keep it down? I-I'm trying to..." Ruscdîr's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the infant. "Is-is that Callon?" He asked, his brown eyes taking in the scene. Daecrist had often talked about his son to try and distract himself from the pain during their captivity.

"Aye, Rusc. This is Cal."

"He looks like Eleithel." Ruscdîr murmured, almost completely mystified. Children were alien to him. The only child he'd ever really spent time with during his lifetime was his younger cousin, Arafhind.

"Would you like to hold him?" Ruscdîr balked at the suggestion.

"No thank you."

"What are you afraid of?"

"What if I break him?" Daecrist couldn't help laughing.

"Even though I had a similar reaction when he was first born, I've learned that even though babies look frail, they're not made of glass. You won't break him. Cal inherited more than just his looks from Elei; he's quite a hardy little fellow." Callon giggled as his father spoke, almost as if he agreed. Ruscdîr bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. "I trust you, Rusc." Daecrist said, looking his Lieutenant in the eye. "The gap between our cots isn't very wide. If you'd like to hold him, we can pass Cal to each other safely." Ruscdîr fell silent.

"Okay..." He whispered, pulling himself into a sitting position. A small smile tugged at Daecrist's lips as he wordlessly passed his child to his friend. Ruscdîr held his breath as he carefully took the delicate package into his arms. Callon gave a tiny, babyish yawn, and innocently curled up against Ruscdîr's chest.

"He trusts you." Daecrist murmured softly, smiling all the while. Ruscdîr found himself looking down at the infant in a stunned manner. How could it be that one so small and frail could so easily place their trust in one bigger than himself, even though they'd never met before? Callon gripped the Lieutenant's tunic as well as the bandages beneath in a tiny fist. Ruscdîr found himself smiling. There was no way he could deny that the child was absolutely adorable. The door suddenly flew open, and Eleithel darted into the room, smiling as she caught sight of her husband, as well as her child in Ruscdîr's arms. It was rather odd, really, that the Lieutenant was so shy around children, and yet looked so natural holding one.

"I thought this might lessen your boredom." She grinned as she pulled a block of wood and a carving knife out of her bag. She'd kept a block of wood and a knife with her ever since.

After being shown the basics of whittling, Callon was soon on his way, cutting the wood under his father's careful supervision.

"Ow!"

"Stop squirming!"

"But it hurts!"

"That's your own fault for leaving this until today, you foolish marchwarden!" Maewen huffed, glaring her red-headed patient into silence. Ruscdîr tried not to flinch as the young healer's apprentice placed another stitch in his side. The injury had been far worse than he'd first thought. The cut ran from his ribs to his hip. "I'm sorry about the last comment." She sighed, continuing to sew him back up. "It was unnecessary."

"It's alright." He replied with a light grunt of pain as the needle slipped through his flesh once again. "You're right, it was a foolish thing to do."

"It was foolish to leave it till this morning, but you gained the wound in battle, so I shouldn't judge you so harshly."

"I gained it during the battle, not in battle." Maewen paused what she was doing, and looked up at him.

"What did you do?"

"I fell out of a tree." He replied, grinning sheepishly.

Maewen could only groan in reply, rubbing at her temples, as she fought the urge to smile.

"That explains all the splinters I had to remove." She sighed, going back to stitching him together again, apologizing as she noticed him wince.

"By the way, I noticed you were walking with Faron earlier." Maewen felt her cheeks burning. "He's a nice fellow." Ruscdîr continued.

"Yes, he is." She replied, blushing all the while.

"He seems to like you." Ruscdîr smiled with a knowing look in his eyes.

"Enough of your teasing!" She squawked. Ruscdîr laughed.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop! But if there's one thing I have to say before I forever hold my peace, it's that you and Faron seem to be a good match." Maewen paused, her needle halfway to the injury.

"You… you really think so?"

"Certainly. Your personalities just seem to blend together. I may not know much about love, but I know enough to realize that relationships like that are valuable. Don't let it go to waste."

"Thanks, Ruscdîr." She murmured softly, finishing up the stitches. She felt a kind hand on her shoulder.

"Don't mention it."

The Lieutenant watched the healer dart away, a soft smile gracing his sharp features. He glanced down at the small table beside his assigned cot. His bloodstained tunic was currently being scrubbed to death, but his vest had been cleaned and stitched together, so he put it on, hiding the various scars from random battles and events that marred his skin. He laid back, his wild red hair splaying out in all directions like a halo. He sighed softly. It wasn't often he got a chance to relax. Then again, his "relaxation" was time he spent in the healing ward after being patched up after something or another, but it was far better than going home.

Home.

It was odd, really. Most went home when they wished to find a piece of mind, but he didn't.

He couldn't.

He'd find no peace at home.

"Hello, Rusc." He opened an eye. Arafhind stood there, shyly shuffling his feet. Pain lanced through Ruscdîr's heart. He'd grown up. The elfling he once knew was a grown adult. Had it really been so long since the feud started? Arafhind had only been a child then, and now he'd passed his majority by twenty years.

"Cousin." He replied, finding his voice at last, as he indicated to a chair beside him. Arafhind sat down, his eyes carefully tracing where his cousin's injury was, making sure that he was alright.

"I'm sorry that I ratted you out to the healers." He apologized, looking guiltily at his cousin from beneath his shaggy silver bangs. "I-I was worried about you."

"You mean you were scared that it would end up like that one time when you were… Valar, you couldn't have been much older than Callon." Arafhind hung his head in shame. The events of that day had scarred his young mind. He'd never forget it.

He bounced up and down excitedly as he watched his extended family coming towards them. It wasn't often he saw them. They'd all see each other only for the annual family reunion most of the time, but today was special. His cousin had lost his mother many years ago, and his father had decided to remarry. Arafhind remembered the shocked look on his Adar's face when they first received the news. He'd not been too enthusiastic about his brother remarrying, but then Naneth had said that they should be happy for him anyway, because that's what families were for. There'd been no arguments after that. Personally, however, Arafhind was more excited about seeing his cousin than meeting the newest member of their family. It was easy to spot his cousin in the group coming towards them; his flame-colored locks could probably be seen from a mile away. His parents courteously greeted their sister-in-law, but Arafhind raced straight over to his elder cousin.

"Hello, Rusc!" He exclaimed cheerily, proudly using the nickname he'd given his cousin years ago, as he firmly attached himself to red-head's leg. Ruscdîr mumbled a greeting. Arafhind frowned. There was something wrong with his cousin, that much was obvious. He could feel him trembling beneath his touch. He was unusually pale, and seemed to be struggling to stay awake. Arafhind was confused. Was Ruscdîr sick? Elves couldn't get sick, could they? Besides, his cousin was a soldier. He was tough.

"Le-let's go catch up with the others, huh?" Ruscdîr grinned a little as he detached himself from the elfling. Arafhind nodded, and took his cousin's hand. It was clammy.

The pair walked slowly, a few paces behind the rest of their family. Arafhind glanced over at his cousin. His breathing was shallow, and his free hand had traveled to his stomach.

"Rusc, are you…?"

"I-I'm fine. No need to worry about-" he collapsed without warning. Arafhind screamed, gaining the attention of everyone. His uncle raced over, pried Ruscdîr's hand from his middle, ripped the tunic off, and cursed as he caught sight of the injury, wrapped in bloody bandages. Arafhind only caught a glimpse of the ugly wound before his mother pulled him away.

"Arafhind? Arda to Arafhind, wake up!" His eyes snapped open. Ruscdîr had him by the shoulder, and was shaking him soundly.

"I'm awake!"

"Well thank the Valar for that! I thought you blacked out for a few minutes!"

"I'm alright, I was just… I was thinking about that one time."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up." Ruscdîr huffed. "It's just that you were so young when that happened, so I assumed you were afraid of a repeat."

"Of course I was afraid of a repeat! You left that arrow wound for a week! You collapsed because it was infected!" He hissed. Guilt crossed his face. "I'm sorry, Rusc… that was unneeded."

"Not entirely. Leaving it like that was stupid of me, and whenever I think about it, I always wish you didin't have to witness that." A wry grin crossed his face. "It's kind of ironic that I had to train you for every emergency. I'm not exactly what you'd call a good example!" Arafhind couldn't help but agree.

"Rusc? May I ask you something?" He suddenly asked, concern crossing his features.

"Aye. What's the matter?"

"You've left injuries like that several times. Why don't you ever ask for help?" A pained look spread across his cousin's face.

"Because… because I can't go to my mother for help anymore." Ruscdîr had no idea why he just blurted out his deepest secret. It sounded childish, and he knew it. As a child, he'd always go to his mother with all of his problems. He remembered her clearly, her kind hands, gentle smile, and soothing voice that always seemed to put everything at ease. And then… she wasn't there anymore. The orcs came, and destroyed his life with one fell swoop. In his opinion, the world should've stopped spinning as soon as his mother's last breath passed her lips. The image of his mother being born back from the orc's den was burned deep into his memory. Seeing her, so pale, so still, so bloody…

"Ruscdîr? Rusc, it's alright." He jumped as he felt his little cousin sit beside him, and wipe a few tears away.

"I-I'm sorry, Araf. I know it's childish, but…"

"It's not childish to miss someone." He murmured gently, pulling his cousin into a gentle hug. Ruscdîr instinctively tried to pull away, but Arafhind only held on tighter. "You've always acted as a rock for everyone. Let me be strong for you for a change." Tears stung the Lieutenant's eyes. He wanted to be weak. Just this once. He wanted to share his burdens with his cousin, but every time he looked at the silver-haired private, all he saw was the elfling. The innocent child he'd played with all those years ago. He couldn't damage Arafhind's innocence anymore. He firmly pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Araf..." His voice was trembling. "But I can't. Maybe, one day I'll need someone to lean on, but I don't think that moment is now."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Rusc." Arafhind whispered, his brown eyes holding a troubled look to them. "That one day, you won't be able to take it anymore, and I won't be there for you." A captain called him away.

"One day, Arafhind, I'll tell you everything." Ruscdîr whispered as he watched his cousin walk away until he was lost in the crowd.

"Uncle!" The small voice banished some of his melancholy thoughts. A light smile tugged at his lips. There was only one child who called him "uncle". He turned around, and caught the giggling elfling.

"Hello, Cal, you little monster!" Ruscdîr laughed as he scooted over so that Callon could sit beside him.

"Look what I made!" The child exclaimed as he proudly held up the bird he'd carved out of the block of wood.

"Aye, this is very good!" Ruscdîr replied as he looked over the simple carving. It was clearly the silhouette of a bird in flight. Slightly crude, maybe, but it was far better than Ruscdîr's first carving. Apparently, Callon had inherited his father's talent.

"I'm going to give it to Mornar." Callon said with a smile. "I don't think I said 'thank you', so I thought I'd give him this." A gentle smile crept across Ruscdîr's rough features. He'd been present when Callon had described his adventure to his father.

"That's a good idea, Cal. I'm sure he'll like it."

Alquawen's soft silver locks flowed behind her as she walked around cots and patients, searching for one specific individual. Her ocean blue eyes roved around.

There:

A dark head of hair that curled slightly at the ends.

She walked over, smiling as she approached. Mornar was sound asleep, nuzzling the pillow occasionally, as he mumbled something in his dreams. She was relieved to see that some color had returned to his cheeks.

"Poor thing. Yesterday completely wore him out." She thought to herself, her brow furrowing in concern, as she noticed some light spots of blood on his bandaged shoulder. She carefully loosened the bandage, doing everything she could to keep him from waking up. She sighed. He'd popped one of the stitches. She lightly pressed a alcohol soaked strip of cloth against the injury, purging it of any sort of infection that could've started to set in during the time from when he'd bust the stitches till now. He groaned softly, and slowly stirred back to life.

"Mornin'." He said, stifling a yawn.

"Good almost afternoon." Alquawen grinned as she arched her brow. Morner blinked in surprise.

"Almost afternoon?" He repeated, as if he didn't believe it.

"Aye. It's about eleven-thirty."

"Well, that's a first." He muttered. "I've never slept in like this before. I'm normally an early riser."

"If it makes you feel any better, my gwanunig's going to be in the same boat tomorrow morning." Alquawen commented with a smirk. "He's been up all night with a concussion, so I'd imagine that come tomorrow, he'll be getting up later than you!"

"Oh. Is he a soldier?"

"No. He's a marchwarden who has a habit of getting up at the crack of dawn. In short, I'm going to have a lot of fun watching him getting up after noon!" She laughed, which got something close to a smile from the exile. "And to think that normally he's the one berating me for sleeping in!" Mornar chuckled quietly as he lightly shook his head. Alquawen smiled softly. She had a feeling that Mornar didn't laugh much, but she could tell that his recent laughter hadn't been fake. His laughter was low, almost sounding like it came deep from within his chest. She carefully wrapped a clean bandage around his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Save your thanks for later, for I'm not quite done yet." She murmured as she fished through her kit until she pulled out a cloth. "Putting your arm in a sling to prevent any of your stitches coming undone would probably be a wise decision. Can you sit up?" Without even answering, Mornar hauled himself upright, biting his tongue to keep himself silent, as he carefully swung his legs over. The arrow wound didn't hurt nearly as badly as it had the day before, but it was still enough to make the normally active Nargothrondian want to stay in bed. Alquawen carefully got to work, binding his arm to his chest. She walked behind him, causing him to flinch slightly as he felt her soft curls brush against his cheek as she tied the knot at his left shoulder.

He could only pray that she didn't see the blush slowly creeping up the back of his neck.

He wasn't used to anyone being as close to him as she was.

"Sorry." he glanced over at her. A shy smile was on her face, and a slight blush had colored her cheeks. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

"I know." He mumbled. To a point it was terrifying, and yet, at the same time, it was exhilarating. Most people he'd seen had avoided him at all costs. Yet she was getting as close to him as she could without hurting him. He frowned suddenly. She hadn't been the first. Who had been near him? He wasn't sure. He didn't remember the events that had occurred a day ago. Everything was foggy. But there had been someone he'd interacted with… he glanced over at his sword leaning against a nearby trunk, and suddenly realized that the familiar feeling of the knife he always kept in his boot was absent. His brow furrowed.

What had happened to his knife?

He'd… he'd given it away… he remembered that. But to whom?

The images were becoming a little bit clearer.

He'd been sitting in a tree when he'd given it to the someone he was with… he remembered looking down to see whoever it was, as they were of small stature… they'd been excited when they'd gotten the knife… their greenish-grey eyes had lit up in excitement… they'd said something…

"My name is Callon, son of Daecrist and Eleithel."

His eyes widened.

"Where's Callon?!" he cried, grabbing onto Alquawen's arm as she started to leave. She swiftly sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He's alright." she reassured him. The panic in his eyes swiftly evaporated. "He's back with his parents." she indicated to a cot about ten feet away, where Eleithel was soundly scolding her husband for sitting up. The pair silently watched the couple argue until Daecrist finally relented and got back in the cot. Alquawen smirked wryly. If there was one thing she'd learned about Eleithel, it was that it was no use arguing with her.

"They don't look too happy." Mornar commented. Alquawen laughed.

"They're only married."

"But they're arguing." the Nargothrondian stated simply. He'd never been told he was loved personally, and he was hated by all in his old village, so he'd naturally assumed that everyone else just got along fine.

Particularly those who knew they were loved.

"They love each other dearly, but Daecrist is about the worst patient on the face of the earth, so he has a tendency to drive Eleithel crazy at times like these." she paused "they're incredibly grateful for your actions, by the way. When we were setting up the tents, Eleithel was constantly moving between you and Daecrist."

Mornar's silence became even more quiet if possible.

It overwhelmed him.

Before, no-one had cared about his life, and now, several people did.

"Are you alright?" Alquawen was gazing at him with a gentle, concerned expression.

"Aye, I'm fine." Mornar replied quickly, startled. He was a master at hiding his emotions, and yet, the healer beside him had managed to see past his mask. "I… I'm just not used to this, that's all." he said carefully. He'd also learned to watch his words.

"Not used to what?"

"Dammit, she saw through that too!" he thought to himself.

"I'm just not used to anyone caring." he admitted as he felt her hand on his shoulder tighten gently.

"Then you might as well start getting used to it." She was soon called away by Aearon, and Mornar found his inner struggle growing. His instinct was to leave as soon as he was able, and return to exile, but at the same time he was in debt to the Iathrim.

He couldn't leave now.

For one, he could hardly get up let alone walk, and for two, he couldn't bring himself to do it. There had to be some way he could thank Alquawen and Aearon. Besides, if he left, he'd be leaving a rather upset elfling.

"Maybe, if I left quietly one night, it would be easier on all of us. I know how to write; I could leave a note explaining myself. Ai, I wish they weren't so attached to me! But then again, I'm rather fond of them as well. Especially Callon… and Alquawen. I'm going to miss them, but they'll eventually forget about me. Everyone else has. Besides, " he thought to himself bitterly "I'll be fine on my own. I've only fended for myself my entire life. I'd be a bad influence on Callon anyway. He's young. He should be socializing with others. If he spends too much time around me, he may become a loner as well."

"You're finally awake!" Mornar whirled around in surprise as something barreled into his left side, sending a jolt through his sore body. "I've missed you!" Callon giggled as he buried his face into the Nargothrondian's chest. A small smile made its way onto Mornar's face. It was hard to think that an elfling who missed you while you were asleep wasn't downright cute.

"I missed you too." he replied softly as he lightly ruffled the elfling's hair. Mornar's smile swiftly turned to a look of horror as Callon looked up at him with some dried blood on his face.

"Hey! What are you-" Callon asked in surprise as Mornar rubbed at the elfling's cheek with a damp cloth which had been left behind by one of the healers.

"Hush. Stay still for a minute." Mornar murmured as he carefully cleaned Callon's face. His jaw dropped. There was no injury on the elfling's face. "Where did the blood come..." he suddenly noticed that his shirt was stained with his blood and the blood of the edain he'd fought the day before. "... from."

"So that's what smelled funny." Callon quipped, wrinkling his little nose. Mornar grimaced. He made a mental note to ask Alquawen if he could borrow a spare tunic.

"Aye, I suppose so." he mumbled. Callon smiled, his little hands clasped around his small treasure behind his back.

"Guess what!"

"What?" Callon held out his hands, and showed the exile his humble carving.

"I made this for you!" Mornar opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He swiftly shut his mouth, fought back a few tears, and pulled the elfling into a light hug.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." he was honestly touched by the gesture. Callon's response was muffled as he buried his face into Mornar's tunic. The elfling suddenly pulled away.

"Are you coming back to Doriath with us?" he asked, looking up at his new-found friend with eyes full of hope.

"I really don't know." the exile answered finally.

"But you must! I'm sure you'll like it there!" Callon rambled as he told Mornar all about his home. The Nargothrondian listened silently, his violet eyes glowing with wonderment. It all seemed magical, Doriath. It was a beautiful place, according to Callon. It was almost funny how the elfling was talking at a rapid pace, telling him all about the trees, the people, the animals, his family, his friends, Thingol and Melian, on and on and on.

"Remember to breathe." he joked. Callon gasped for air and went on again. Mornar listened intently, hanging on to every word.

"Perhaps I could find a place among the Iathrim in Doriath… Maybe I won't be stared at for once!... Maybe I could belong..."

"There you are! Callon, I've been looking all over for- oh, for goodness sake! Callon! Let him rest!" A rather flustered Eleithel exclaimed as she plucked her child from the cot, and set him on the floor.

"It's alright, he's no trouble." Mornar spoke up with a smile. Eleithel returned it.

"All the same, you should be resting." She said firmly as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Hannon-le."

"You're welcome."

"Can I fall asleep now?" a tired voice asked. Alquawen sighed.

"I'm afraid not, Beleg. You can't fall asleep for a full twenty-four hours." her brother groaned. She finished making a small wooden cup full of tea. "Here, drink this. It'll keep you awake."

"Al, I don't even want to think about putting anything in my stomach." Beleg mumbled as he tried to turn away from the cup offered to him, but one can only move so much while lying in a cot.

"Beleg, please." Alquawen pleaded as she knelt beside her brother. "For me?" the marchwarden sighed. She was giving him doe-eyes. He couldn't say no to that.

"Very well." She helped him put the cup to his lips, and he choked it down.

"Chin up, Beleg! You'll be able to sleep tonight."

"Really?" Beleg asked, looking at her hopefully. Alquawen nodded. The circles under the eyes of her poor brother were so dark it wouldn't surprise her if he just passed out as soon as he was able.

"Aye." her brother heaved a sigh of relief as soon as the word was out of her mouth.

"Thank the Valar for that! I thought I was going to have to stay awake until the end of time!"

"Well, you're not!" Alquawen said, chuckling at her brother's dramatics. "By the way, you're going to be meeting Mornar later. Aearon thought it would be a good idea to move your cots closer to each other so I don't have to run around as much." she smiled slightly. "I have a feeling that the two of you will get along. He's a quiet ellon, but he's kind. I've gotten him to open up a little, but he's rather secretive." she paused, her brow furrowing as she sat beside her brother on the cot. "I don't know what's wrong with him. My heart tells me he's a good individual, but he acts as though… I'm not sure what exactly he's been through, but he seems lonely, and maybe even afraid. Either way, he's in some form of pain that I don't think I have the ability to heal… I fear for him."

"Why? Do you think he'll…?"

"I don't know, but I know for sure that I need to help him." Beleg noticed his sister's eyes darken slightly. "He seems more depressed each time I talk to him." she turned to face him, her unbidden tears unshed. "I… I'm afraid he'll fall off the edge completely before I can help him."

"I'm sure he'll be alright." Beleg said softly as he gently sent a bit of his strength through their bond. "He'll pull through, and we can both help him do that." Alquawen tried to smile.

"Don't do that Beleg. You're not exactly in a position where you can lend me your strength." her gentle whisper echoed softly in his foggy mind.

"Well, it seems you need strength more than I do at the moment."

Beleg had to admit that the Nargothrondian who now was just a few feet away from him certainly had an odd appearance, made even more peculiar by the aura of mystery and sadness that seemed to radiate off him. The blonde ellon briefly wondered exactly why his companion forced himself into exile. A protective side of him screamed in alarm at the thought of his twin caring about the dark-eyed mystery, but a more rational part of him reasoned that if Alquawen couldn't help said mystery, her dark fear could become a reality. He risked a glance at the occupant of the cot beside him. Mornar was as jumpy as a nervous deer in the sight of a hunter, looking around him from time to time as he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. Beleg found himself pondering the exile's strange behavior.

"What on earth could've made him so scared?" He wondered. "He looks like he's going to bolt at any second!" The Nargothrondian quietly asked Alquawen if a spare shirt was available, and if he could go somewhere private to change. Alquawen was hesitant to allow him to stand, but agreed. He got up shakily in a fashion similar to a newborn colt.

A tall colt.

A very tall colt.

Alquawen hadn't realized how tall Mornar was until that moment. He was easily six and a half feet tall.

"Hell… I don't even come up to his shoulder! It'll be hard to help him if he can't walk by himself." She thought to herself as she moved to help him stay upright.

"S-sorry. " the exile mumbled as he regained his balance with her help. "I shouldn't have asked…"

"It's alright!" she reassured him quickly with a smile. "Your tunic really does need a good clean; I can't figure out for the life of me why I hadn't noticed earlier." she got his left arm over her shoulders.

"It's okay. You were busy. I didn't even notice it until earlier today." he replied, lightly tugging at his bloody garment. He attempted to pull away from her slightly, not liking the idea of her trying to support his muscular bulk on her small shoulders. Part of him was afraid that she'd shatter like a delicate glass figurine at the slightest amount of pressure. The thought scared him. She was so gentle… harming her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Which is why you need to leave!" his inner monologue snapped.

"Ready?" she asked cheerily as she grabbed a clean tunic in her free hand.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose." Mornar managed to force a smile with his words. He failed to notice the concerned look that spread across her fair features. She returned his smile and helped him out the tent.

Beleg sighed softly… he felt his heart going out to the lonely exile, but at the same time, he felt that something was off about Mornar's whole demeanor. Callon suddenly raced past.

"Hey, Cal!" Beleg suddenly stated as he reached out and lightly grabbed the elfling's arm.

"Yes?" Callon asked as he clambered up into the cot with him, uninvited. Beleg couldn't help but smile at the elfling's innocence.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Beleg! What do you need me to do? Is it fletching arrows? Ada showed me how to do that; I'm good at it!"

"I'm afraid it's not fletching arrows, Cal, but we can do that later!" Beleg laughed at the youngster's enthusiasm. "Can you grab Mablung and Culdôr and bring them over here? I need to talk with both of them."

His feet felt like lead. Even with Alquawen's support, he still swayed from time to time. She never left his side though. If anything, she pressed into him further to help him keep balance. His bad leg suddenly gave out. Had a large oak tree not been there, they would've both crashed to the ground. Mornar's eyes widened in alarm when he realized that Alquawen was pinned between him and the tree.

"A-are you okay?!" He squeaked as he pushed off from the tree with his good arm, freeing the trapped elleth.

"Yes, I'm fine!" She replied as she quickly brushed the dirt and little pieces of bark off her dress. Her gentle smile put him at ease. "Come on; the place I had in mind isn't too far." She said as she positioned herself beneath his arm once more. They continued walking. Soon enough they reached a small clearing in the surrounding forest with a shallow stream running through. Mornar looked around. There was no-one in sight.

Perfect.

"Are you sure you won't need help? You only have one good arm after all. And only one good leg." Alquawen pointed out. Mornar bit his lip.

"Could you help me get the sling off?" He asked softly. Alquawen smiled gently.

"Of course." She stood in tiptoe to try and reach the knot, but her fingers fell short. Mornar gave a small, shy, sheepish grin, and stooped down a little so she could reach.

"Sorry." He mumbled. "I should've thought about the height difference before I asked."

"No, no. Don't apologize." She murmured gently as she pulled the sling off. "I'll be on the other side of the tree over there. If you need help, just call me." He nodded in reply, although he knew he wouldn't call her even if he needed help. She walked away as promised, and he found himself out of the vision of prying eyes. He carefully got started on undoing the ties keeping his shirt closed…

Alquawen leaned against the tree, listening intently. She could hear him quietly cursing as he fumbled with his tunic. She bit her lip. He hadn't asked for help, but it sounded like he needed it.

"Should I ask him?" She wondered "I don't think so. He's hiding something, so if I ask, he'll probably say 'no'. Should I just check?... if he doesn't know I'm watching, then he won't try to hide his struggle… " she made up her mind, and silently peered around the tree. He had his back to her, his one shoulder moving slightly as he worked to take off his shirt. He gave a small noise of triumphant satisfaction, and pulled the fabric over his head. Her eyes flew open as she clapped a hand to her mouth, unable to suppress a small squeak. Upon hearing the noise, Mornar whirled around, his eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of her, while spontaneously stumbling and falling backwards into the stream with a yelp. Alquawen swiftly rushed to help, not even caring that the hem of her dress and her soft doe-skin boots were getting wet. Before she could reach him, however, he scrambled backwards until his back was pressed against the nearby riverbank. She paused, her soft sapphire depths filled with pity as she gazed silently at the Nargothrondian, who was prefering to expose his muscular chest rather than allow her to see his back.

"I've already seen it." She said gently, yet somewhat firmly. "You don't have to hide from me." The only sign that he was willing to allow her to approach was that he relaxed slightly. She walked behind him, and settled down on the grassy earth. She reached out, and lightly brushed his jet-black locks out of the way, allowing her to get a good look. Raised scars raced across his back in an intricate pattern, clearly portraying a crest of some kind. They were neither old nor new, as they had lost the red coloring of fresh scars, yet were still clearly visible. "Whose crest is this?" She asked softly as she lightly traced one of the many scars that marred his skin with her thumb. The message was clear. Whoever had marked him was stating that they owned him in some way.

"My employer's." He mumbled quietly after some hesitation. "He… he got mad… and…" His voice trailed off. Alquawen's hand on his shoulder tightened comfortingly.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't feel comfortable doing so." Her thumb continued to trace the scar gently, up and down, kindly, tenderly, almost lovingly, to the point that he started nodding off. Alquawen noticed with a smile. "It's strange." She thought to herself. "He's so scared of someone hitting him that he avoids physical contact at all costs. Yet when the hand is kind, he loves every second of it. Even something as mundane as this." His chin smacked against his chest, and he immediately snapped back into awareness. Alquawen stifled a giggle behind her hand. In a way, although he seemed rather depressed, his childish innocence was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's alright, it's alright." She knelt down beside him. Her gentle gaze was enough to calm the most fearsome stallion; it swiftly made Mornar feel safe. A kind smile spread across her fair face. "We'd best get you dressed and back to camp. Aearon is probably wondering where we are." She extended her hand to him, and helped him to his feet. After they reached a nearby tree which he could lean against, Alquawen picked up the shirt from where he dropped it. Mornar accepted it, and pulled it over his head, wincing at the pain lacing through his shoulder. He felt Alquawen lightly tugging it down. Without even asking, she began to help him with the ties as well, commenting that she'd noticed him struggling with the ties earlier. He used his good hand to help her, particularly as the ties got out of her reach. As she was helping him, however, his brow furrowed, and he carefully took hold of her wrist. Bruises covered her left hand, and her wrist was bandaged.

"I did this." He stated, horrified, as he remembered how tightly he'd held her hand the night before. Her face softened.

"Only a few of the bruises were you." She admitted as he cradled her hand even more gently. "The rest of the bruises and the sprain came from a patient I had this morning." The words were clearly hard for her to say. "She… she was found on the battlefield this morning with an arrow in her stomach… a barbed one." Mornar felt his gut twisting itself into knots. He grew more concerned as she watched her eyes fill with tears. "She was in so much pain… she couldn't stop screaming no matter what we did to help her… Aearon tried to remove it as painlessly as possible but… she… she didn't make it." The tears started to fall, and the exile found himself at a complete loss for words. He could only brush her tears away as he'd done the night before. Without thinking, she rushed straight into his arms, seeking some kind of comfort. He blinked, not knowing what to do. She was clinging to him as though he was a lifeline, burying her face into his chest as she wept. Hesitantly, Mornar slipped his good arm around her, rubbing comforting circles into her back as he held her. After a few minutes, her cries quieted, and she looked up at his face, her own blotchy and streaked with tears.

"It's alright, Alquawen. You tried your best to help her. What's more, you truly care. That's what matters." She tried to smile at his words. He meant well, but her aching heart did not cease paining her.

"Thank you." She murmured softly, before getting the sling from where she left it, suspended from a tree branch.

"Alquawen?"

"Yes?" She replied as she re-tied the sling round his arm. He bit his lip, as if embarrassed.

"Could… could you please not tell anyone about the… crest?" Her eyes softened.

"If you don't want anyone knowing, then I won't tell. But you needn't be embarrassed by it. Everyone has scars. Physically or figuratively."

"No one deserves scars." He said, his tone hard. "No one deserves to feel a knife cutting into them." He mentally added. "Nor should anyone have to feel like they belong to someone else."

"Scars, however, can serve as a reminder for the times we made mistakes." Alquawen said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "Believe me, I know." She let loose a shuddery breath, and brushed her silver locks out of the way, revealing a small bald patch on the side of her head, mostly hidden under her hair. "The scar's gone now, but my hair still hasn't grown back."

"What happened?" He asked quietly. "If you don't mind me asking." He knew well enough that it was hard to talk about trauma.

"When I was younger, I used to love climbing trees. Once, an eagle built a nest on one of the lower branches of the tallest tree in Menegroth. My brother and I are orphans, but we had a caretaker… she told me not to see the fledglings, but I didn't listen." She sighed softly as she closed her eyes. "When the mother eagle saw me near her nest, she dived down and knocked me out of the tree. I ended up with this," she indicated to the patch as she spoke "a broken arm, a dislocated knee, and a sprained ankle. I couldn't do anything for weeks… I think the worst part of it all was knowing that Beleg felt all of it." Mornar felt his already broken heart get another crack running through it. She'd only been a child. The thought of her taking any sort of injury at all hurt. "To tell you the truth," she whispered softly, her voice trembling, "I'm scared to death of falling again. Sometimes, I have nightmares of falling, but I never hit the ground."

Mornar was silent.

"I… I have nightmares too." He whispered softly, shyly looking into her eyes for a brief second before averting his gaze. "Not of falling, but I know what you mean. It's made me an insomniac." Alquawen took his hand in her own, gently forcing him to look her in the eye.

"I have some recipes for sleeping potions if you ever need one." He blushed shyly at her words. He was still getting used to people offering him help.

"Thank you." He mumbled sincerely. She smiled in return. He felt a warmth in his chest that he'd never felt before. Was this what happiness felt like? It was different from the one time he'd felt anything close to happiness: when he'd come to terms with the fact that Erynaur wasn't coming after him, he'd felt a giddy sort of excitement.

He was free.

Free!

But this was different. This didn't come from a sense of knowing that he wasn't going to be tied down anytime soon. This came from her soft smile. Her cheerful laughter. Her bright eyes. Her fair features. He found himself captivated by slightest details. The way her hair had a habit of getting in her face. The fact that her eyelashes were the same silvery color as her wavy hair. The rosy coloring of her cheeks. Her adorable dimples. That her smile was slightly crooked. He swiftly stopped himself.

Was this… love?

He couldn't love her. Not without hurting her. The look of sheer innocence she held in her eyes… no. He couldn't let his hardships take that away from her. He allowed her to loop his arm over her shoulders as they walked back to camp, his resolve to leave doubled.

"So, that's the situation." Beleg finished as he looked his friends in the eye. "What do you think we should do about it?"

"I'm not sure what we should do exactly, but I know that we have to keep him from leaving. That's the only way to be sure that he'll pull through." Culdôr replied thoughtfully after some consideration. Mablung nodded.

"He's right, Cúthalion. Alquawen's insight isn't something that I would take for granted." Beleg smiled quietly as his friend spoke. Mablung had already gotten used to his friend's new nickname, and didn't hesitate to use it. "We can't let Mornar leave until we're certain he's alright."

"But how are we going to get him to stay?" Beleg muttered. Culdôr's gaze was averted as brought a hand to his chin, clearly lost in thought, as Mablung simply shrugged. Beleg sighed. From what he'd noticed, he felt safe saying that his sister had grown rather attached to her other patient. She'd be heartbroken if Mornar's fate ended up being as dark as she feared it could be.

"Lads, we've got company!" Mablung hissed as he lightly kicked Culdôr's boot, startling the smaller marchwarden out of his thoughts. The next minute, Alquawen and Mornar returned.

"Thank the stars for individuals like Mablung who always keep their wits about them!" Beleg thought to himself with an inward sigh of relief.

"How's the leg, Mornar?" Culdôr quipped as the exile carefully got back in the cot.

"Better, thank you." He replied, sending the strawberry-blonde a quizzled glance. The marchwarden grinned a little.

"It's alright. Yesterday was rather rough. Culdôr, remember?" Mornar's brow knit together in thought as he pondered the name. His eyes gave a small spark.

"Yes… I remember now… thanks for getting me back."

"Not a problem." Culdôr smiled as he sat beside the Nargothrondian.

"Good grief, Culdôr. When you said he was a bit taller than you, I thought he was around Beleg's size. He's a lot bigger than you! You look like an elfling compared to him!" Mablung grumbled as he sat next to Beleg. Mornar blushed slightly in embarrassment as he looked away, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he'd picked up somewhere, as far as the others could tell.

"You're just sore because there's someone who's taller than you in our friend group now!" Culdôr laughed, catching Beleg's gaze as he did so.

"Nice one, Culdôr!" He mentally praised his friend as he noticed a slight flicker in Mornar's dark eyes.

"Well, I suppose I'll leave you all to it then!" Alquawen said as she gave a sidelong glance to her brother as he gave her a quick wink. She smiled at him. "Aearon probably needs me for something or another. Behave yourselves while I'm gone!"

Maewen clutched her apron close to her as she darted around the newly arrived supply wagons, the pungent scent of the herbs she was carrying in her garment wafting into her nostrils. Luckily, help had arrived swiftly from Pessmenel, bringing food, medical supplies, extra cots, and many more things which could be of use until they were sure that all of the patients were able to move back to the province.

"What in the Valar's name were you thinking?! You're not allowed to be here!" A voice shouted harshly. Maewen looked around, and was stunned to see an elleth clad in a Captain's uniform, yelling at a pile of provisions. She was a formidable looking soldier, fairly small, with a scar on her left cheek, and a hunter green strip of cloth round her head, holding back her messy raven black hair. Maewen crept closer, and nearly dropped her apron full of herbs as she caught sight of the stowaway. An elfling sat huddled among the crates, shivering as he stared wide-eyed at the terrifying Captain. "Do you realize what the punishment for this offense could be?!"

"He's not going to come out if you keep scaring him." Maewen spoke up, finding her voice at last. The Captain whirled around, glaring coldly at the young apprentice with her duo-colored eyes. The right being an icy blue, and the left being a dark shade of brown. She said nothing. "Let me try. Yelling at him won't do any good."

"You think that I don't know that? Believe me, I do, but I also know that there's a corporal punishment that goes along with this offense. Do you think his family wants to see that? He needs to be put in his place to ensure that he won't do this again." She said, her voice low. Maewen did everything she could to keep herself from trembling in front of the Captain. She nodded dumbly, and knelt down in front of the elfling.

"Why'd you sneak over here?" Maewen asked gently.

"My… my brother's here." The child whispered softly, sending cautious glances towards the elder elleth.

"Alright." Maewen said as she shifted her burden into one arm, and extended her hand to him. "How about we go find your brother, hm?" The elfling nodded, and darted over to her, making sure she was between him and the Captain.

"You're off the hook this time, child, but you'd better not do this again." The Captain growled. Maewen gulped as the youngster trembled.

"H-hannon-le, Captain…?"

"Seregthoroniel." She snapped.

"Daughter of Blood-eagle… How fitting." Maewen thought to herself as she took the child's hand, and darted away.

"She was scary." The elfling whimpered as he pressed even harder against her.

"I know she was, but let's focus on finding your brother now." She replied as she noticed that the child's warm brown eyes were oddly familiar. He suddenly hid behind her skirts as a few soldiers passed. "Awfully shy, aren't you?"

"I am, my brother's not. He says 'hi' to everyone."

"Hm. Well if he says 'hi' to everybody then I've probably met him already, huh?"

"Probably."

"What's his name?"

"'Ron." He mumbled. Maewen pondered the strange name.

"What rank is he?"

"He isn't in one. He's a Cadet."

An overly social Cadet named 'Ron.

Very helpful.

"There he is!" The elfling squealed excitedly. "'Ron! Over here!" Maewen looked up and found herself face to face with Faron, who was racing over.

"Alagos?!" He spluttered, his eyes bugging out of his face. "Wha- what? How did you get here?!"

"He may have snuck aboard one of the wagons." Maewen quipped. Faron groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

"I told you to stay with the neighbors!"

"But I missed you!" Alagos pouted as his large brown eyes filled with tears. Faron sighed softly in exasperation.

"He knows what he did was wrong. He's already been scared half to death by Captain Seregthoroniel." She murmured quietly, placing a hand on his arm. Faron looked at her with wide eyes.

"Seregthoroniel?"

"Yes. You know her?" He ignored her question, and picked up his brother, cradling him tenderly.

"You poor kid!" He turned to Maewen. "Not personally, but nearly everyone has heard of her. That woman's been known to make warriors shake in their boots!" She laughed nervously in reply.

"I can see why!"

"Maewen, I don't know if my commander will allow Alagos to stay with me." Faron said seriously as they walked around aimlessly. "Do you think Aearon will let him stay with the healers? Considering that Callon's been floating around the tent."

"I don't see why he would have a problem with it."

"But I want to stay with you." Alagos sniffled as he looked into his brother's face. Faron's eyes softened.

"I want you to stay with me too, but I don't know if that can happen penneth." He whispered gently as he set his brother on the ground. "I want you to stay with Maewen while I go see if I can work something out. Maewen's a friend of mine, so you can trust her, okay? You listen to her, alright? There's another elfling running around here who you can make friends with. I'll be back soon, okay?" He gently grazed his thumb along Alagos' cheek. "No more crying."

"No more tears." He sniffled in reply as he wrapped his little arms around his brother's neck. Maewen smiled as Faron hugged him back lovingly.

"Come on, Alagos! Let's find Callon." She grinned as Faron gently pulled away. Alagos looked hesitantly towards his brother.

"Go on." Faron murmured softly as he gave his brother a small push towards the elleth. "You're okay." Alagos gave a small nod and shyly took Maewen's hand. "I'll be back later."

Eleithel laughed gently as her son took his new friend by the hand, and darted off on some new adventure.

"Thank you so much for helping." Maewen sheepishly smiled in relief. "I don't know the first thing about children."

"It's alright! And to be honest, I think you know more than you think."

"What's going on?" Alquawen asked as she entered the small tent that served as their storage place for all the medical supplies, as well as the place where they'd mix concoctions.

"Oh, Maewen's new boyfriend asked her to watch his little brother." Eleithel said with a playful smirk and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Alquawen laughed as Maewen turned a bright shade of red. "Oh, and I forgot to ask, how is that handsome Nargothrondian you're falling for?" Alquawen's face turned an equally bright shade of pink. Eleithel laughed. "Don't either of you pretend you're not smitten. I have three younger sisters; I know all the symptoms!" After both ellith were thoroughly embarrassed, Alquawen shared her concerns about Mornar with the group. Both Eleithel and Maewen shared worried glances.

"I… I think you have every reason to be troubled." Maewen said softly as she looked the elleth she considered her mentor and friend in the eye. "But I also think that we can help him."

"The question," Eleithel said slowly, "is how? We're trained to heal physical wounds, and this sounds more like an emotional or mental issue. There's probably something in the manual about this, though. Aearon might know what to do as well." Alquawen nodded tiredly. She couldn't deny that she felt better now that she'd expressed her feelings to her friends.

"If you're that worried about him doing something like that, maybe we could get Captain Seregthoroniel to scare it out of him!" Maewen joked, trying to lighten the mood. Eleithel's face darkened.

"Just remember that Captain Seregthoroniel ranks above you, and has led a much harder life than any of us." She murmured quietly as she gave the apprentice a firm look.

"What do you mean?"Alquawen asked as she stood beside her ashamed apprentice. Eleithel sighed.

"News in the army travels fast. A few years back, about two or three years before Callon was born, actually, I heard about a patrol who found an elleth in the woods, southwest of Pessmenel. She claimed to be from a family that was reported to have gone missing many years ago. She'd clearly been abused, and said that she'd been held captive by edain… She was also six months pregnant when they found her." Alquawen bit the inside of her cheek. She glanced over at Maewen, who was unusually pale.

"You… you mean she was…?" Eleithel nodded.

"When they asked for her name, she apparently replied 'Dînaerlinn Seregthoroniel'."

"So if Captain Seregthoroniel is the same elleth you heard about, then she's been through hell, and is raising a young peredhel by herself." Alquawen stated bluntly as she closed her eyes, lightly pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Aye. This is also probably the only job she was able to get, considering the amount of distrust for the edain."

"Then when word of the attack gets back to Doriath, things will likely get harder for her." Maewen murmured softly.

"Then we'll help." Alquawen said confidently. "From what I've heard about her so far, she sounds too proud to accept charity, but we can at least make her feel welcome among us and offer emotional support."

"Beleg, I still think you never shot that arrow."

"I'm telling you, Mablung. It worked for me, and I have no idea why you couldn't draw it."

"Beleg, I'm siding with Medli on this one. He's the strongest out of all of us." Culdôr said before glancing at Mornar, looking at him critically.

"What?" The exile questioned.

"Well, actually, maybe Mablung isn't the strongest out of all of us, but he is definitely stronger than you, Beleg. If he couldn't draw the bow then there's no way you could have." Beleg felt his cheeks go pink.

"Then I'll prove it!" He grumbled as he snatched up the bow from behind the cot. Mornar's eyes lit up.

"Where'd you get the wood for this?" He asked softly as he reached out and lightly touched the bow. Beleg's brow furrowed in confusion.

"From a tree on the battleground. Why?" He had an inkling that the Nargothrondian knew more than he was letting on.

"A large yew tree? Black? No leaves?"

"Yes." Beleg confirmed, bewildered.

"That's Galvornthalion." The three marchwardens blinked. "You know, Galvornthalion?" He emphasized the name as he looked at them disbelievingly. "The enchanted tree of Nargothrond?" Beleg shook his head dumbly. Mornar sighed in exasperation. "I thought everyone knew about Galvornthalion."

"Everyone in Nargothrond." Culdôr muttered.

"What do you mean, enchanted?" Beleg pressed. Mornar sighed again, this time, softly.

"Well, to put it all in a nutshell, anything made from the wood of Galvornthalion can only be used by the individual who took the wood from the tree. That individual's descendants can also use that object, but they have to be direct descendants. That's why only Beleg can draw that bow."

"So, you're telling me that only Beleg can draw that bow because of some enchantment?" Culdôr asked.

"Yes."

"What a load of rubbish!" Mablung laughed. "I'm not about to believe in some silly magical hocus pocus!" Mornar's cheeks turned pink.

"Are you saying that I'm lying?" He asked softly.

"I wouldn't say that about you, but you might have been misinformed." Mablung's tone softened considerably.

"Alright then, let's test this!" Mornar muttered as he hauled his sword into his lap. Beleg arched his brow as he noticed that the Nargothrondian's scabbard was made of yew wood.

Black yew wood.

"I made my scabbard out of the wood of Galvornthalion. If the legend is true, then I'm the only one who can draw this sword." He murmured as he extended the weapon to Mablung in invitation. The marchwarden smirked.

"I already told you: I don't believe in magic, so why pull that sword?"

"Why not? Are you afraid you won't be able to draw it?" Mornar playfully taunted. Beleg and Culdôr shared a glance as their friend's face grew stony.

Mablung was not one to back down from a challenge.

"Alright then!" He huffed as he undid the leather safety strap with ease. He smirked, but his satisfaction seemed to melt under Mornar's sweet smile.

"Go on then!" The Nargothrondian insisted. Mablung squared his shoulders and gripped the sword with both hands. "Well?" Mablung grumbled under his breath at Mornar's persistence, summoned all his strength, and pulled as hard as he could.

The sword wouldn't budge.

He dug his heels into the earth, and leaned backwards, using his weight as well as his strength, before losing his grip and falling backwards with a surprised shriek better suited for an elleth than a marchwarden. Beleg nearly fell off the cot as he doubled over with laughter.

"Medli, you oaf!" Culdôr scowled. "If you grabbed the hilt from an angle, like this, then you'd have an easier time pulling the sword!" He pulled the sword, looking absolutely shocked when the sword didn't move in the slightest.

"Would you like to try?" Mornar smiled triumphantly as he extended the weapon to Beleg.

"No thanks!" The blonde laughed. "I believe it!"

"Let's see you try!" Mablung huffed from the dirt floor, obviously not taking the defeat well. "The sword is probably just stuck! I wager you can't pull it either!" Mornar only smiled a little.

"Beleg, would you mind holding the sword?" He asked. Normally, he wouldn't trust his sword with anyone, but for some reason, he felt he could trust Beleg. Beleg nodded numbly, and took the sword into his hands. The wood felt smooth beneath his touch; he could tell that Mornar had definitely taken a lot of care making the scabbard. It felt familiar. Almost like an old friend. Mornar's hand slipped around the grip, his fingers nearly touching the crescent shaped guard. He pulled gently, his movements deliberately slow, as the cool gleam of the steel blade began to show.

The blade was finally free of its prison, gleaming coldly in the warm sunlight. It was of Dwarven make, built like a standard longsword with sharp, angular designs, the pommel sharply pointed, clearly for striking down foes behind, and the metal had a cool, grayish color.

Completely original and unique.

Just like her owner.

"Not to rub it in, but I told you so!" Mornar laughed, but not unkindly. Mablung and Culdôr only grumbled in reply.

"You're the strongest out of all of us." Culdôr pointed out. "That could be why only you could draw it."

"Then try to draw Beleg's bow." Mornar challenged. Culdôr swiftly agreed. He took the crude bow into his hands and tugged.

Nothing happened.

Mablung snatched it away, and tried once more with the same result. Beleg and Mornar shared a smile. The blonde ellon took the bow into his hands, and drew back the string with ease.

"Do you both believe him now?" Beleg asked. Culdôr and Mablung sighed a 'yes'.

"It's strange." Mornar said quietly as he leaned back in bed, as they both watched Mablung and Culdôr leave to see Daecrist.

"What is?" Beleg asked as he looked over at his companion.

"How some people can just refuse to believe in magic even though it's all around them."

Dînaerlinn silently made her way through the cots littering the infirmary, ignoring every single stare she received.

Yes, she knew she had… a reputation, to say the least.

And yes,

She knew the back of her shirt was covered in blood.

"Capitan!" She whirled around, a rare smile warming her cold features as she caught sight of Aearon. He was one of the few people who had earned her trust.

"Mae-govannen." She said, turning to face him.

"What can I help you with today, Dînaerlinn?" He asked. She turned around in answer. Aearon drew in his breath sharply. "Good grief, how did this happen? Was it in the battle yesterday? If so, why didn't you come earlier?"

"I didn't know about it until today, to be honest. I didn't even feel it happen; must've been the adrenaline." She said as Aearon took her by the shoulders, carefully locating and examining the wound in the bloody mess.

"Dînaerlinn, I don't think I'm allowed to treat this…"

"What do you mean?"

"This cut runs horizontally across your shoulder blades. In order for it to be taken care of, you'll have to remove your shirt."

"So you're allowed to birth my child but you're not allowed to do this?" She didn't know why, but she found it somewhat funny.

"The only reason I was able to bring your daughter into the world was because none of the midwives would do it!" Aearon chuckled.

"Aye, they were scared that something unexpected would happen because I was giving birth to a peredhel!" She huffed as she rolled her eyes.

"How is Brennil, by the way?" Aearon asked, earning a small smile from Dînaerlinn. Brennil was about the only light in her life.

"Bren's alright. She scraped her knee yesterday while tree climbing, but other than that, she's completely healthy." Aearon chuckled as she spoke.

"Adventurous little thing, isn't she?"

"That she is. I just hope I'll still be able to keep up with her!"

"She takes after her mother." He immediately regretted his words as Dînaerlinn flinched under his touch.

"Hopefully she doesn't take after me too much…"

"I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't mean-"

"I know." She turned, grinning weakly. "I know what you meant by that."

"Let's get you taken care of." Aearon said a little too quickly, trying to change the subject. Dînaerlinn nodded in reply, unable to think of a better way to respond. She could feel her anxiety acting up at the thought of another healer helping her. "Alquawen!" She looked up to see Aearon calling over a silver-haired elleth. Her duo-colored eyes narrowed.

"Yes?" She asked pleasantly.

As suspected, she was one of them.

She recognized the healer's voice.

"This is Captain Seregthoroniel. Dînaerlinn, my former apprentice." He indicated to Alquawen, whose demeanor suddenly changed dramatically.

"A-a pleasure to meet you!" Alquawen exclaimed, a smile plastered to her face as she extended her hand.

"The pleasure is mine." Dînaerlinn responded courteously, not missing the tremble in Alquawen's voice.

"Captain Seregthoroniel has an injury that I'm not allowed to tend to. Would you mind treating her?"

"Of course. Right this way, please." Alquawen invited. Dînaerlinn followed.

Alquawen gulped nervously. The Captain Maewen had spoken so fearfully off was right behind her.

"No wonder Mae was so scared. She's terrifying… at first glance, that is." She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. "But I think that maybe, just maybe, there is more to Dînaerlinn than meets the eye. Perhaps she only behaves This way around people she doesn't know, and therefore doesn't trust. Maybe if I earn her trust, then she'll act differently. If so, maybe I could help her in more ways than one." With that thought in mind, she pushed her fear aside.

"How bad is the injury?" Alquawen asked as she looked over her shoulder.

"I don't think it's too bad. It's on my back, so I can't see it, and Aearon never got into details about how deep it was and stuff like that." Dînaerlinn answered honestly, much to her own surprise. It was so hard to be honest with people she didn't know. Alquawen nodded.

"And Aearon can't treat it…?"

"Because it's on my upper back, so-"

"You'd have to take off your shirt." Alquawen finished. "There's a storage tent outside where we can find some privacy." Captain Seregthoroniel frowned to herself.

The storage tent?

The same place from earlier?

Really, could this day get any worse?

Alquawen led her inside, and closed the tent flaps. It was small, but there was just enough space. Alquawen walked behind her, and carefully examined the injury. For once, Dînaerlinn was unafraid.

"You're right, it's not bad at all, really. It just bled a lot. It's not deep enough to require stitches either. By the looks of things, it would seem that you were grazed by an arrow, which would explain the bleeding."

"What do you mean?"

"We're almost certain that the edain lanced the arrows with some kind of blood thinner." Alquawen grumbled unhappily as she fished through her kit.

"Bastards." Dînaerlinn snarled under her breath. Her mouth snapped shut tightly as she waited for Alquawen to go into shock or something. If there was one thing Captain Seregthoroniel could say about herself, it was that she was anything but ladylike. Alquawen, however, just smiled.

"After all I've seen, I would use stronger words to describe them. Would you mind taking off your shirt now?" Dînaerlinn obeyed with a sigh. The healer wasn't going to like what she saw…

Alquawen conquered the urge to gasp as she saw dozens of thin silvery scars criss-crossing Dînaerlinn's back. She didn't want a repeat of her initial interaction with Mornar at the stream.

"This would go easier if you sat down. Would you mind?" Dînaerlinn nodded, and sat down backwards in a nearby chair, carefully pulling her thick braid over her shoulder. Alquawen carefully got to work, clearing the blood with a damp cloth. "This is going to sting." Alquawen warned as she soaked a washcloth with alcohol.

"Pain's an old friend of mine. If I could handle a whip, I can handle this." Captain Seregthoroniel replied dryly. Alquawen only pursed her lips in response, as Dînaerlinn unknowingly answered some of her unspoken questions. She carefully began to clean the cut, apologizing all the while, although the raven haired elleth stayed silent, the only indication to her pain being her tense jaw, a clear sign that she was clenching her teeth.

"That's finished. As soon as I place the bandages, and get you a clean shirt, you're good to go!"

"Hannon-le." Dînaerlinn replied, honestly grateful. Alquawen smiled softly as she searched her things for a bandage. Even though her back was turned to her patient, she could hear the sincerity in her voice.

"If anything happens, you bleed through the bandage, anything, please come find me so I can help." Alquawen said as she carefully tied the bandage around the Captain.

"By offering emotional support because I'm too proud to accept charity?" Had Alquawen been holding something, she would've most certainly dropped it. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out as she paled considerably. Dînaerlinn looked over her shoulder, and to Alquawen's surprise, her eyes held no anger.

Just pain.

Sadness.

She would've preferred unspeakable fury.

"Next time you choose to talk about others, I suggest you all either lower your voices, or make sure no one walks past the tent." Alquawen didn't know how to respond. She felt too ashamed to say or do anything. Dînaerlinn, taking the healer's silence as her cue to leave, pulled her borrowed tunic over her head, and walked to the tent flaps, hesitated, and turned around. "Thank you for everything you've done, but I don't think I'll need any more help." After that she left silently. Alquawen shook herself out of her stupor.

"Wait… wait!" She cried as she raced out of the tent. "Captain!" She called as she caught up with Dînaerlinn, who whirled around, her old fire back in her eyes.

It was all a mask.

"Yes?" She glowered.

"I just wanted to let you know that I meant every word I said." Alquawen murmured quietly. "If you need any sort of help at all… I'm here." Dînaerlinn's eyes softened, and for a minute, she let Alquawen once more see behind the mask.

"I… I'll consider it." She whispered before being called away.

"Come on…"

"No…" Mornar muttered under his breath as he grappled with his sword. He glanced over at Beleg, and gave a sigh of relief. The marchwarden, who'd just been given the okay to fail asleep by Aearon, was still in the world of dreams. He huffed in frustration as he tried to draw his sword to clean it.

A rather hard job when you only have one arm to work with.

"Need help?" He looked up to see Alquawen standing above him.

"If you want to, then sure." He replied carefully.

She looked completely worn out.

She nodded with a smile.

"Of course I want to help. What do you need me to do?"

"Could you hold the scabbard while I pull the sword please?" He asked. She nodded with a small smile, and sat beside him, taking the sword into her hands. Mornar drew the sword carefully, scared to death of hurting her. Blessedly, however, she was completely fine.

"That's going to attract many eyes." Alquawen murmured softly as she placed a hand on the cold steel blade. "We don't often see anything Dwarven in these parts. Where'd you come by her?" He stiffened at her question.

"My employer, he…" Alquawen gently placed a hand on his arm, and he shyly smiled a little in return. "He hired me as his sparring partner, and he promised me this sword. When I left, I took it with me." He admitted as he carefully started wiping the dried blood off the blade. The action of working with his sword was soothing, and made it easier for him to talk. "He won it in a bet with a dwarvish trader. They were both drunk, which explains a lot." He put away the cloth, and started to sharpen the blade. "She's a good sword though. A bit heavy, maybe, but very well balanced."

"Does she have a name? Beleg named one of his arrows Dailir because according to him she's a lucky arrow. He even marked her so he can tell her apart from the rest."

"I never named her, and if she had a name before, I have no idea what it is." His dark eyes softened a little. "I kind of find it fitting in a way that I don't know her name. It makes us sort of alike I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

He fell silent.

"I don't know my name either." He said so softly it was almost a whisper. Alquawen was stunned.

"What do you mean?"

"'Mornar' was the name I was given by the others in my village because they thought I was inhabited by a demon. I have no idea what my given name is." He mumbled.

It drove him mad.

Unloved.

Unwanted.

Nameless.

It was maddening, not knowing who he was. Some of the others had their theories, of course. He'd heard them all.

Orphan.

Son of traitors.

Demon spawn.

Monster.

All of it.

"Thanks for helping." He managed to smile, weakly, but it was still a smile.

"It… it's already eight o'clock. Do you think you'll need a sleeping potion?" Alquawen asked, trying to contain her shock.

"No thank you. I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain."

He wasn't going to need anything tonight.

He couldn't delay any longer.

"Very well. Good night." She turned, and walked away, her only thought being that she was going to come up with a nickname for Mornar.

"Good night." He echoed as he watched her walk away. He settled down in the cot, and feigned sleep.

Two hours later…

Mornar opened his dark eyes, and allowed them to adjust to the light. Alquawen was sitting in a chair beside Beleg, sound asleep as she leaned forward on the cot.

All was silent.

He sat up, putting all of his stealth skills to work as he carefully managed to free himself of the sling. His shoulder protested. He stood up, knocking Callon's carving off the small table beside him. He caught it swiftly with his good hand, mere seconds before it hit the ground. He fingered the rough edges gently, his broken heart bleeding once again. He slipped it into his pocket, a memory of the time he spent with them. After strapping his sword to his belt as quietly as he could, he straightened up, and looked around.

He could spot Callon from his position. The elfling was fast asleep, curled up, and substituting his father as a mattress. Eleithel was there also, in a chair beside the cot, her head resting on the pillow she was currently sharing with her husband.

"Poor Daecrist. It's a little crowded over there."

On the other side of the tent, Culdôr and Maewen were sleeping as well, the latter's head resting against her brother's shoulder. Faron wasn't too far away. He was sitting on the floor, with Alagos on top of him. Mablung was sitting in a chair beside Culdôr, snoring worse than a drunken dwarf. Culdôr woke up for a split second, and tilted Mablung's head to the side so he stopped snoring.

"Do shut up." He muttered as he fell asleep once more.

Ruscdîr and Arafhind were seated at the farside of the tent (Ruscdîr had given up the cot for someone else) leaning against each other.

He looked back at Alquawen. She looked so innocent, resting against her brother like that. He swiftly walked away before he could change his mind. He paused however, and looked back.

All of those whom he had grown to care about were sleeping soundly, almost like how a newborn baby would sleep innocently in their mother's arms. His gaze once again traveled to Alquawen. The moonlight shone upon her silver hair and fair skin, making her look even more iridescent than ever.

"Navaer…" He murmured softly, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "... Angel." He swiftly walked away, knowing it would be the last time he saw her.

Alquawen's eyes fluttered open, and her brow furrowed as she felt as though something was wrong. She looked up, and caught a glimpse of someone exiting the tent. She immediately looked over at Mornar's cot, gasping as she realized he had left. She leapt to her feet, intending to follow, when Beleg swiftly grabbed her arm.

"What's the matter?" He asked, before glancing over, his eyes widened when he noticed that Mornar was gone.

"Beleg, let me go!"

"Al," he stated softly as he stood up "You've done a lot to help him, but I think the only way to keep him from leaving now is if I talk to him man to man." Alquawen blinked back tears.

"Promise you'll convince him?"

"I can't promise that, but I can promise that I'll try." He murmured as he held her. Alquawen nodded, and stood aside.

Mornar strode away from the field infirmary as quickly as he dared. His leg and shoulder were throbbing as his sword bounced gently against his leg. The crickets sang their song softly in the cool autumn air that night, almost completely drowning out the footsteps following him.

"Where are you going?"

Mornar sighed softly. He'd been hoping that he could avoid any confrontations. He wheeled around to find Beleg staring him down.

"Back into exile." He answered, a determined look in his eyes. "I've caused too much damage here already."

I can't allow any harm to come to Alquawen…

"Do you realize what you're walking away from?" Beleg implored as he closed the gap between them and grabbed the Nargothrondian by the shoulders. "You've found your place among us. Why throw that away?" The dark-haired ellon felt a long-dormant flame inside of him burn again.

"You don't know who I am, Beleg." He hissed, harshly pulling away from the marchwarden's grasp. "You have no idea what I've been through. None of you do. Can't anyone see it?! I'm leaving to protect you!"

"From what?" Beleg countered. "Alquawen can see it. I can see it. You're hurt in more ways than one, Mornar, and you can't do this on your own." The words stung him. Mostly because they were true. "I fear for you. So does my sister. We're afraid that if we let you go now, you'll do something stupid."

"If you're refering to suicide, don't worry, I've already tried that." Mornar snarled. "I was stopped. I can't try that anymore, so I'm now forced to live in pain." Beleg fell silent as he gazed at the tears slowly trickling down the exile's face. "I gave her my word."

"Who?" Beleg asked softly. He knew not who Mornar had given his word to, but he was positive that it was not a natural encounter.

"I… I don't know…" he whispered. Another tear fell. "She… she just appeared out of nowhere and… you wouldn't believe me if I told you what happened."

"Try me." Beleg coaxed, gently pushing for him to continue without saying a word. "Try me." he repeated, his tone softening to the point that Mornar could hardly hear him.

"It… it happened about a year ago…"

His lungs and legs burned almost as badly as his back as he flew through the forest. The rain pelted down heavily on his back, making the already stinging cuts hurt more. His stolen sword bounced against his leg. A tear trickled down his cheek.

He had to keep going.

If Erynuar found out that he ran away now…

For all he knew, he was already being hunted down.

He ran faster.

A few minutes later, he stopped, his burning wounds forcing him to rest. The rain continued to beat his bloodied back and shoulders through his tunic. He choked back a sob of pain. He looked up. Through a gap in the clouds, he could see the stars. They were so far away… were they really the souls of the brave, the true, and the pure of heart illuminated in the sky by Varda herself, as he'd heard? He'd heard that they were supposed to watch over those still living. They were supposed to almost act as a line between the eldar and the Valar. Hot tears pooled in his violet eyes.

Tears of frustration.

Tears of confusion.

Tears of anger.

They were supposed to listen…

"Why?!" he screamed. "Why have you abandoned me?! I've begged the stars for help; Varda hasn't listened. I've washed away my tears and blood in the waters of the rivers and streams and Ulmo hasn't heard me. I've lived my entire life outdoors in the forest, and Yavanna hasn't helped me. Every time I saw a bird, I'd say a prayer in my heart, and Manwë hasn't answered any of them. I've gotten more than my fair share of injuries, and Estë hasn't healed me. Why?! Am I worth nothing to you?! Am I really inhabited by a demon?! Is that why none of you even bother to listen to me?!" his voice cracked as he fell to his knees. "Do none of you care?" he asked softly. The bitter tears continued to fall. The wind blew, and he listened.

There wasn't a sound.

Not a word of comfort.

Not that he knew what a word of comfort sounded like.

His already dark eyes darkened more. No one cared. He was completely alone in the world. He drew his knees up to his chest in a pathetic attempt to comfort himself and stay warm. A tear fell, and then another, and another, and another… why wouldn't it all just stop already? The tears, the pain, all of it. Any relief would be welcome. Even if it came at the ultimate price… he pulled his knife out of his boot, and pulled himself back into a kneeling position.

"If none of you care about my life, why should I?" he asked quietly as he lined up the knife with his heart. He looked down at the gleaming blade leveled with his chest. Rain beaded on the sharp steel, dripping off the tip. It seemed as though only his weapon was crying for him. His tears mingled with the tears of his blade in a gathering puddle by his knees. He applied a little bit of pressure to the blade. He hissed as he felt a shallow cut form on his pectoral. A few drops of blood trickled down his chest.

"Just a little more pain, and then it'll all be over: I'll be free." he told himself. He pulled the knife away, aiming at his chest. "Just a quick thrust… and I'll finally be free of pain…" he closed his eyes, and gripped the knife tighter. He suddenly felt a hand on his chest, blocking his intended target.

"Stay your blade." a soft feminine voice commanded calmly. He cracked an eye open, before looking around in shock. He was in a completely different place; a clearing surrounded by trees which littered the ground with golden leaves, and an elleth knelt beside him. Her face was fair, her sapphire eyes standing out against her pale skin, golden hair, and pristine white robes. She was stunning yet terrible to behold as her eyes seemed to mimic a stormy tempest over a thunderous sea. Without a word, she wrenched the knife from his grasp with one hand, and flung the weapon into the surrounding woods.

It embedded itself into a tree roughly ten feet away.

Had he not been as scared as he was, he probably would've marveled at her strength. She got up, and knelt in front of his shaking form.

"Why were you trying to take your own life?" she asked softly, although her lips did not move; he just heard her voice in his head.

"Because..." he began, attempting to simply think the words rather than say them outright "because I saw no other means of escape."

"Escape from what?" she asked.

"From pain." he replied.

"Why?"

"Because the Valar don't care about me!" he yelled, standing up abruptly as his anger got the best of him. "They never have! I've begged for help. Begged, and they've let me suffer as though they think I can't feel it." The maiden, however, stayed as still as a statue as he vented his frustration. "That's why I was trying to kill myself." his voice trembled as the tears fell. "Because there's no reason for me to care about my life."

"What if I told you that the Valar do care about you? More than you think?" she said as she stood up, and lightly placed a hand on his cheek. He drew in his breath sharply.

Nothing happened.

Not a slap.

Not a curse.

She was just… there. With no intention of harming him.

It was an odd sensation, feeling a kind hand for the first time.

He found that he liked it.

"I don't know if I'd believe it." he admitted, secretly wishing that she wouldn't pull her hand away. She smiled a little.

"It's alright. I won't pull away." he gave a squawk of embarrassment as she read his thoughts. She laughed, but it wasn't unkind.

It was warm.

Friendly.

Kind.

Real.

"It's true though." she continued "They do care about you more than you think. The Valar, I mean."

"How do you know?" he asked. She smiled gently in return.

"Why do you think they allow this to happen to you? They allow all of the pain you've ever felt because they know that it's essential to mold you into who you need to be in the future. Do you realize how many tears have been shed over you? Do you know much they want to help you, even though it would harm the course of history? Do you realize how loved you are?"

"I… I-I never thought of it that way… " he suddenly became alarmed. "What I've said… could that have changed anything? Did that offend them to the point that they'd stop lo-" she placed her fingertips against his lips, silencing him.

"No." she replied, smiling a little at his silly notion that the Valar would stop loving an individual over a few words. "Nothing you could say would ever do that. Except maybe making an oath like the one that Fëanor and his sons made." she added with a wince.

"No. I-I wouldn't do that." He said, shaking his head vigorously. She smiled softly.

"I know you wouldn't." She murmured as she carefully tugged at his bloodied tunic.

"What are you…?"

"Hush. Take off your shirt." Mornar found himself trembling as he silently obeyed.

Was he going to be beaten?

Had he been wrong about her the whole time?

Was it all just a cruel joke?

"No. I'm not going to hurt you." Her voice echoed softly through his mind. He shivered slightly as his bloody skin met the cool night air. She placed a hand on his chest, directly on the cut he'd given himself. He looked between her and her hand warily, jumping back with a cry as her hand started to glow. She laughed at his reaction as he looked down in shock.

All that remained of the wound was a small scar where it had been.

She'd healed him.

"I want the scar to act as a reminder for you. A reminder not to do this again." She murmured firmly. Mornar nodded dumbly, still in shock.

Could she heal his back too?

What about the scars on his heart?

He once again felt her hand on his cheek.

She smiled sadly as she read his thoughts.

"Those are not mine to heal."

"What do you mean?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. She smiled mysteriously.

"One day, you'll find out. You should rest." She abruptly added. "You're exhausted." As soon as the words came out of her, he started to feel it. Thanks to his insomnia, he hadn't slept in days. He tugged his shirt over his head, grimacing at the painful sensation of the fabric rubbing at the cuts on his back, before stumbling towards her outstretched hand. They walked a short distance to where they'd first been, and she sat down in the grass, motioning for him to sit beside her. He settled down beside her, already half asleep. He could feel her gentle hands carefully guiding him into a more comfortable position, lying down, with his head on her lap. He stiffened slightly when she gently started to stroke his dark locks, but her touch was calming, and he soon relaxed.

"Promise you won't do that again?" She whispered softly.

"Promise."

His eyes closed, and his mind was tugged into the world of dreams…

He awoke with a start, cursing as his injuries burned. He pulled himself up.

"I must've passed out." He thought to himself as he looked around. He was exactly where he had tried to commit suicide the night before. He looked around. For some reason, he expected to see golden leaves on the ground, but they weren't there. He frowned.

Where on earth did he get golden leaves from?

The whole incident suddenly came back to him.

"What a crazy dream…" Mornar muttered as he stood up. He checked himself over, his brow furrowing as he realized that his knife was missing. He checked around his feet. No, it wasn't on the ground.

Wait a minute… hadn't the maiden thrown it aside?

"Don't be stupid." His derogatory inner monologue hissed. "A maiden from a dream couldn't have done anything to your knife! You're just a stupid little elfling chaseing idiotic ideas." For once, Mornar forced himself to ignore the voice in his head, as he walked towards the trees. To his utter shock, he found the knife right where the maiden had thrown it: embedded in a tree about ten feet away.

He tentatively tugged up his tunic.

There was a small scar on his left pectoral. He swallowed thickly as he pulled his knife free.

It hadn't been a dream at all.

He walked away a few paces, before stopping.

What was he supposed to do now?

A gentle breeze lightly blew his dark hair in odd directions. He listened. He could faintly hear a voice.

Soft.

Gentle.

Familiar.

The maiden.

He couldn't make out the words, but it wasn't a message for the ears, but rather for the heart.

He looked at the woods in front of him, took a deep breath, before taking his first steps into a whole new world.

Beleg could only watch as Mornar seemed to break down completely.

"Come on." Beleg said gently as he took the exile's hand. "Let's go back." Mornar nodded numbly, and followed Beleg back to the tent, almost like an obedient dog would follow their master. Emotional exhaustion was ebbing at the edges of his mind to the point that he didn't even notice Alquawen standing there, her worry evident on her fair face. He just stumbled over to his cot and practically fell on top of it, falling asleep immediately.

"Beleg, what happened out there? He looks like he's just ran five leagues without stopping!"

"Al, listen to this and tell me what you think…" Beleg said as he began to tell her all he had just heard. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He asked as he finished the tale.

"Beleg, we can read each other's mind. Of course I know what you're thinking. But I thought Galadriel's powers only extended as far as Melian's girdle allowed."

"As did I, but I suppose we were wrong."

"But what does she want with him?" She whispered as they both sat down on Beleg's cot.

"I honestly couldn't tell you." Beleg mumbled as he sleepily rubbed at his eyes. Alquawen smiled gently.

"Go back to sleep, Cúthalion. You're far more tired than you look."

"You don't have to call me that, Al." He said with a smile as he lay down.

"I know, but I like it. It suits you." She replied, sending a bit of love through their bond. Beleg was asleep in an instant. She laughed a little. Alquawen quietly sat down in her chair again, and looked up at the stars through an opening in the top of the tent. They glittered, almost as if they were speaking to her. A soft whimper suddenly grabbed her attention. Mornar was tossing and turning in his sleep, plagued by some sort of nightmare. She swiftly got up and went to him, placing a hand on his back, attempting to calm him the way she did at the stream.

He pulled away as though her touch burned him.

"That incident with his employer must be what he's dreaming about!" She realized, horrified as her hand swiftly retreated back to her chest. "I can't let him wake up, he's exhausted beyond belief…" she placed her hand on his head, gently running her fingers through his hair. He quieted down almost immediately. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Crisis averted.

She settled back into her chair once more, the starlight reflecting off her ocean-blue eyes. The moon that night was a crescent one, glowing softly in the dark sky. She suddenly noticed that the moonlight was bouncing off of the hilt of Mornar's sword. The guard on his sword was shaped like a crescent. She looked back and forth between the moon and the sword. A smile spread across her face.

"Good night, Cúron." She whispered softly, gazing at the peaceful exile. She picked up her chair and placed it directly between the cots, in case either one of her patients needed her, and fell asleep…

… Mornar awoke to soft murmurings. He hauled himself upright, looking around quietly. He looked over to see Alquawen with a troubled expression on her face as she slept, mumbling incoherently. He frowned as he carefully got out of bed, placing a hand on her shoulder, stiffening as she found his hand with her own, and held on tightly, pulling his hand by her chest. He knelt down beside her, and gently tried to pry his hand from her grasp.

"Please… please don't… let go." She mumbled in her sleep, clinging to him tighter as a fearful expression crossed her face. Mornar was confused by her request. Then, it hit him like a thunderbolt.

Falling.

"I won't let go, I promise." He whispered, gently tucking a rogue curl behind her ear. She relaxed, her grip loosening slightly. Mornar sighed softly.

There was no going back now, but he still was hesitant about whatever feelings he had for Alquawen. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Then, it clicked.

If he didn't want to accidentally harm her, then the logical thing to do would be to protect her.

He could do that.

A small smile crept across his face as he mentally compared himself to an overgrown guard dog. He silently swore his sword to her, before slipping into the world of dreams.

Morning

Alquawen blinked, her eyes hardly believing the sight she awoke to. Mornar had fallen asleep in a kneeling position beside her, his head resting against the side of the chair, his hand in hers. She attempted to pull away, but he held on tighter, and mumbled something.

The only words she managed to catch were "no" and "promised".

Then it all came back to her.

She had had her usual nightmare, although this time, someone had caught her, and had sworn they wouldn't let go.

A soft smile graced her face.

She placed her free hand on his shoulder, causing him to lightly smile in his dreams. She felt her eyelids growing heavy.

Within minutes, she was sound asleep once more, her cheek resting against his head.

Beleg awoke soon after, and quickly made it his duty to scare off anyone who dared to stare with the meanest glare he could muster. One that would've probably made Daecrist proud.

Far away in Doriath, a golden haired elleth gazed into a fountain of water, smiling as she watched the ellon whose life she'd saved.

"Good." She whispered to herself. "He's finally found her."

Well, I hope you all liked this chapter! Sorry for all the angst, I hope the fluffy bit at the end made up for that. 3

Anyhow, I was inspired to try something new that I saw on YouTube. I've recently been watching videos posted by an artist called Love2DrawManga (if you are a fellow artist, I highly recommend her stuff, she has a lot of tutorials) and something that she started doing was that she'd let her followers design OC's by posting polls on the social media platforms she uses, and letting people vote on certain options. After they'd finished voting, she'd draw the OC based on the results. So I thought I'd try something similar.

Every once in a while, I'll post a list of questions on fanfiction, which y'all can read, and then either pm me or drop a review with your choices. I'll then draw the OC based on the results, and write a short story about them. My finished drawing will be the cover of the story so all of you can see it! :)

(Also, does it seem weird that I kinda want to draw Mornar as a dog after writing about him comparing himself to one? :P)

Elvish translations below! ;D

Hên = child

Nor = run

Nor-saes = please run

Mae-govannen = well met

Ion-nín = my son

Tithen-pen = little one

Elleth = elf (female)

Penneth = young one

Gwanunig = twin

Iathrim = people of Doriath

Edain = man (plural)

Hannon-le = thank you

Ellon = elf (male)

Galvornthalion = a name I came up with for the black yew tree. It means "strong black metal"

Medli = Mablung's nickname (bear)

Navaer = farewell

Cúron = Alquawen's nickname for Mornar (crescent moon)