Flashes of red and orange pulsed above the water, melding into the deep blue of the ocean. The chill of the water went unnoticed in the cloud of blood that now formed. The red tendrils pull the body deeper into the blue. The man is not unconscious yet, he simply stares. His unwavering gaze etched with sorrow and grief is hidden by his hair temporarily as he sinks. Everything is muted, not a sound penetrates the blue and the young man is the only thing in the water for miles around. His plated armor is still strapped to him, his weapons lay sheathed, unused and covered, but an arrow pierces his shoulder. He sighs, only bubbles escaping his mouth as his eyes fall closed. He continues to sink slowly, calm and expressionless, finally ignorant to the pain and suffering around him.
The water swirls around him, pushing him too and fro, turning and twisting him in a cruel dance. As if the water was deciding to spare the poor mortal's life, it pushes him back towards the surface. He gently breaks the tension, now far farther away from the battle faster than any earthbound spirit could travel by themselves. Unawake, but floating, the young man takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the sea before the water pulls him back down beneath its depths. The water swirls around him, occasionally dragging unsuspecting sea life into its wake. Still the young man sleeps, peace caressing his features, the waves rocking him deep into slumber. The water pushes him faster than any mortal had gone before, at first dragging him deep into the ocean, where the blue waves become a black abyss, then a little higher up, where the teal and light blue reflections dance on the sun's beams.
He surfaces again many miles later, gasping. As if awaking from a sudden drop, his arms flail, his hand reaching out to grasp anything near to him, but only catching air, disoriented. He is sinking again, the weight of his water soaked clothes and armor tug him back below the waves. His lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, his eyes sting in the murky water, his wounded shoulder throbs.
Just as his eyes are closing again, fatigue burning through his mind, a wooden log bumps against his fingertips. He grips it by his fist and slowly lifts himself back out of the water by his uninjured shoulder. He does not know where neither the log nor the strength to lift his arm back above the surface came from, but through the mind numbing cold he thanks whatever spirit is watching him.
Finally able to breathe again, he spits out bitter water and inhales the sweat air. Laying limp on the log he manages to rub his eyes on his exposed tunic, wiping them clear. He sees a distant shore drawing near and futilely tries to kick his legs, to pump himself forward. His legs feel as if iron chains resist his every move and all he can do is rest awhile on the log as they burn. Through the blackness of his closed eyes, the cold water suddenly reminds him of the unknown dangers lurking, waiting to ambush him as he is weakened.
Groaning, he feebly begins to kick again, pushing himself through each torturous, straining, paddle that tears through his thighs. By the time his knees brush against the sandy bank, he falls again, thoroughly unconscious.
Above the beach, on top of a hill, 2 cream horses stop at the ridge, their riders looking down upon the beach. Wordlessly, the two riders begin their descent, each pulling out their curved swords cautiously. As they reach the bottom of the mound only one dismounts, crouching as he approaches the man's prone form.
"Návë coirëa ech?" With no response, the man switches to the Common Tongue. "Hey, are you alive?" He yells slowly. As the man remains unresponsive, the rider tentatively begins to approach, pausing as he nears.
"What wrong? Go!" The rider's companion barked. The rider huffed, pulling off his helmet to reveal slender curved ears and long black tresses that overshadowed an elven face.
"I don't know if he is dead or alive! What if he is an enemy?" The elf exclaimed.
"What are you? Are you a baby or a horse? Get him out of the water. Why do I have to do everything?" At the elfs' hesitation the rider quickly mismounts, passing the elf with a shove as he trudged into the water . Quickly they pulled the man to shore, surveying his still form suspiciously.
"Watch it, your mother was a horse." The elf remarks in the Common Tongue,
"We have the same mother, Elladan."
"Is he alive?" Elladan asks while his brother gently turns the body over.
"How would I know genius? Now, shut up and help me get his armor off, he is wounded." The brothers begin to unbuckle the man's plate armor off, revealing his tunic and arrow wound.
"Go get the bandages."
"Elrohir, we don't know if he is an enemy or not! Why should we help him?" Elladan crosses his arms as he sits back on his heels and watches Elrohir place his ear on the man's chest.
"Because, Elladan, he is alive. He is wounded, and he is laying on a beach that shows no indications of a fight. This means that…"
"He must have come from somewhere else." Elladan concludes.
"And…."
"And if he has come from somewhere else, then he might be… then we must bring him to Lord Father." Elladan springs back to the saddle pack, pulling out strips of bandages. They work quickly and quietly, stripping him out of his wet clothes, cleaning and bandaging his wound. As Elladan lifts the man to a seat, the sand falls off the mans exposed back.
"Elrohir! Look!" Elrohir quickly moves around the wounded man. On the back of the man's torso, mixed in with old scars, is a black inked tattoo of a lidless eye. Both elves jump back in horror.
"Elrohir, I knew we should have left him alone. I know that symbol as do you, we need to kill him!" Elladan grabs his blade out from his sheath again. He rests it at the base of the man's throat, holding it quivering inches away, looking towards his brother for the command. Elrohir stands there, glancing between the blade and the man. Something in the man's gentle brow and calm face speaks to him, in this moment he is ignorant of his fate, innocent, and docile.
"If he needs to be killed, we aren't the ones who are allowed to make that decision. If he dies, it can't be by our hand." Elrohir gently pushes away Elladans blade.
"What, why not. If he is a danger we must see to it, as rangers of these lands." Elladan's brow furrows in anger, "If he lives and causes harm, it will be on our heads! Elrohir. I can't understand you, he doesn't deserve any pity."
"No! If you are so worried about blame, it will be on my head, you can save yours for pretty human women and bad human poetry. We don't know anything about where he comes from, we don't know how he got here, we only know he has the mark of the Dark One and we must let father know." Elrohir ties the cloak onto the man's form, lifting his body and begins to gently lift him onto his horse.
"Elrohir!" Elladan gaspes, alarmed, "You can't mean to bring him back to Imladris, bringing the mark of evil into Imladris!"
"Yes, that is exactly what I mean."Elrohir pauses a moment before ripping a strip of the man's own dirty clothing and tying it across his eyes. "There, does that sedate your anxious twittering?" Elladan flushs and puffs, but before he can retort Elrohir was already mounting and pushing his horse into an easy canter.
The two white steeds fly across the plains of Enedwaith and travel a straight-shot to Imladris, when they cross paths with other travelers, they make sure that the man is completely concealed. These meetings are few and far between but with the turn of the wind and the growing evil, the twins continue to take any and all precautions. The man stirs only a few times during this flight, but no drink nor medicine could pull him from his slumber.
The speed of their mounts is unmatched. Within the week they have crossed into the borders of Imladris, they are let through unmolested and finally allow themselves to slow down into a walk, carefully picking their way through the familiar cliffside. At dusk on the 5th day of their travels they see the Last Homely House, and as they trot into the courtyard, their ruffled father comes rushing out of the house.
"And what do I owe the pleasure of learning my two sons were flying through the countryside as if the very black shadow had eaten their breakfast in front of them." He pauses, arms outstretched, mid-hug with Elladan, as Elrohir pulls the unconscious man off of his panting steed.
"What have you two done! Come quickly," Their father rushes back into the house, his sons following.
"We did nothing-," Elladan starts, "We found him like this-," Elrohir continues, "On a beach, he was wounded-," "We bandaged it, but-" Elladan did not finish Elrohirs sentence, as the two trade off in their explanation.
"But what. You would not bring me a dead man if it wasn't important." Their father's long strides have the two brothers trotting to keep up. The other residents of Imladris let them pass, pale and aghast when they see the ashen man in Elrohir's arms. The trio burst into the infirmary, rushing to a clean bed and gently placing the man down.
"He's not dead, he hasn't woken up since we found him, but-"Elrohir, pushes back his frazzled mane.
"When did you find him?" Their father interrupts.
"Almost a week ago, where the Anduin meets the Sea, the very west side of the Enedwaith."
"You flew across the Enedwaith in a week's time. What could be so important about this human?" Their father begins to undress the man, pulling off his shirt, acknowledging the scars on the man, nodding in approval at the twins' he is about to gently flip the man over, Elrohir grabs his fathers wrist. Nodding to Elladan, his twin quickly pulls the privacy curtains around them, the heavy linen fabric clacking on its wooden hoops.
"He has a mark." Elrohir grimaces.
"What mark?" Their father asks. At a loss for words Elrohir simply pushes the man over, revealing the dark eye tattooed into the man's scarred back. Their father sucks in his breath, flinching back. The three elves stand in silence around the man for a moment, the twins looking up at their father, waiting for his reaction as the older elf stares in horror at the man.
"And you brought him here?" His reply was cold, emotionless. Elladan nudges Elrohir.
"Yes Ada, it was entirely my decision, blame me for any harm he causes but he's important. His armor is adorned. His sword engraved, and we- I couldn't leave him for something else to find him." Elrohir takes a breath, "The beach was completely void of conflict and Elladan and I had been traveling along the shore for a while before we saw him. There were no signs of any battle nearby, so we- I thought he might have been carried by the sea away from an enemy army. He might know something about the happenings to the east."He stops on his last breath. Minutes stretch as their father stands, motionless.
"Very well, I will heal him. You two get refreshed, you stink of horse and sweat." Their father says dismissing them. Slightly defeated, the twins shuffle out, Elrohir spares a glance back at the curtain that hides the wounded man. At a scathing look from one of the nurses, currently tending to a sick self, Elrohir makes himself scarce.
The man gently moans on the bed, starling the elf Lord. The Lord quickly turns the man over again, propping his head up with a pillow as the man groans. The man opens brown eyes so dark there is barely a difference between the man's iris and pupils, they flit across the room as the man breathes. The elf Lord guides the man to sit, holding him up with one arm and another feeds him water. The man drinks hungrily, his arms shuddering in their weakness as he tries to hold himself up. The elf Lord does not let him fall, but sets him down on his back.
"Who are you?" The elf Lord leans over the man, obscuring his view.
"N-" The man divulges into a fit of coughing, pain contorting his face before he lays back down again, "Naniel, I am Naniel."
The world becomes hazy as Naniel's eyes swim with the sudden light. The blurry face of the elf above him is speaking again, but Naniel cannot understand what he is asking.
His mind is sluggish, his shoulders throbs, his head throbs, his body throbs. It soon becomes impossible for him to focus on anything in the room around him. He surrenders to the darkness, falling deeply asleep. Finally oblivious to the world around him, Naniel feels as his body begins to heal.