Chapter 48

All for one

He'd heard only bits and pieces of the sheer size of the enemy armies from Dwalin, Lufur and Jack, all of whom had ridden out for Elvaethor's rescue. The way he had heard it, it had been a terrifying venture that had ended with his people charging recklessly into the heart of an enemy camp. Fortunately, they had also made it back out again with Elvaethor in tow, leaving chaos and death in their wake.

The Book, Chapter 15: A Dagger in the Night

It had been a long road, but the sight of home did little to ease the restlessness Jack still felt. Elvaethor's solitary departure had not sat easy with him even when it was decided, and it had not felt any better since. Quite the contrary, with every day that passed since he had regretted it more.

'It's Elvaethor,' Flói pointed out. 'When has he ever not been fine? I reckon he could get locked in a dungeon in Mordor itself and he would still walk out with one hand tied around his back. The Easterlings stand no chance.'

If that were true, then surely they must have encountered him by now. Their own travels had taken them some time. Elvaethor should have had ample opportunity to rejoin them. Of course, they may have missed him and Elvaethor might have returned to Erebor.

Yet Jack did not think so. He did not hold with undefined feelings and whisperings of the heart – he'd leave that to the elves – but with his rational mind he knew that sending Elvaethor alone had been the wrong decision. He was outnumbered in hostile territory. Jack should never have agreed to this.

'If he was fine, we should have seen him by now.'

'Unless he's in Erebor.'

And that possibility was the only reason Jack had agreed to go back, that and to gather as many reinforcements as he could before heading east and hauling his friend out of the claws of the Easterlings.

He held his tongue, but urged his horse to go just a little faster. The sooner he knew what had happened, the sooner he could go do something about it. The gates were open and, to his relief, Dwalin was on duty. Good. This would save some time.

He only dismounted because it was easier to converse that way, but then wasted no more time. Dwalin was halfway through his welcome back greeting when Jack interrupted: 'Has Elvaethor returned?'

Dwalin gave him a look that told him without words that he was being rude. 'Good to see you too, lad.'

He did not have time for this. 'Has Elvaethor returned?'

Dwalin frowned, but not in disapproval this time. 'He rode out with you, didn't he?'

'Aye, and then he decided to go after a group of Easterling spies on his own.' Which Jack should never have allowed in the first place. Would that he could go back in time to retract that decision, especially since Dwalin's response, or rather the lack of it, only confirmed his worst suspicions. 'Now, for the last time, has he returned?'

'No.' A straight answer this time.

'Durin's stinking beard,' Jack growled. He knew it. 'He must have been captured.' Or killed, but he was not yet ready to entertain that thought. 'Call as many of the guard together as you can. We'll leave as soon as possible.'

'Lad, you have only just returned.' Dwalin seemed concerned, but for him rather than for Elvaethor, which made it rather misplaced.

'Elvaethor has not,' Jack pointed out. 'And Easterlings are not known for their gentle natures.' Every hour his friend was in their hands was an hour too many. Elvaethor had sworn himself to Erebor. That made his rescue the dwarves' responsibility.

Even so, Dwalin was right that they could not rush out again immediately. There were reinforcements to gather, horses to saddle, food and supplies to be packed. It would take time, but he would be away before sundown; it was only about noon.

'I'll speak with Thoren before we leave.' If anyone deserved to be informed, it would be the King under the Mountain. 'Is he busy?'

'I'll send a messenger to make sure he isn't.'

Jack only hung around long enough to ensure folk were found and prepared to ride out as soon as possible before he set off in the direction of Thoren's study to break the news. Flói had offered to see to Jack's provisions as well as his own without having to be asked. At least one of them understood the urgency of the situation.

The messenger Dwalin had sent had beat Jack to his destination by only five seconds, so Jack burst in when the lad was still announcing Jack's imminent arrival.

'Thoren, a word,' he said before he had even taken in the room. 'In private.'

His brother was not alone. Several elves were in attendance, Elvaethor's sister Tauriel among them. They were bent over plans of the Mountain, discussing the defence most likely. As it was a plan of attack Jack meant to announce here, they were mostly superfluous to the conversation.

Thoren must have read from his tone that something was amiss. 'Would you excuse us, please? We will resume this…'

'In a few minutes,' Jack said. He did not intend to linger. 'Captain Tauriel, you had better remain.' Elvaethor was still her brother after all.

It was clear that Tauriel had many questions, but she held her tongue whilst her people filed out of the room. Thoren's expression had moved from mild concern to deep alarm, as well it should, but he too did not speak until the last elf had departed and closed the door behind him.

'What happened?' Thoren asked.

'We dealt with the scouts,' Jack reported, brief and to the point. 'Some split from their fellows and went east. Elvaethor volunteered to follow and see to them. I heard that he has not returned.' And now days had been wasted returning to Erebor while Elvaethor was lingering in captivity. 'I mean to take out as many of the guard as can be mustered within the hour and retrieve him. It seemed prudent to inform you.'

Thoren stood up, worry etched deep into his forehead. Tauriel had gone very pale. 'Nothing has been heard of him since?' she asked.

Jack shook his head. 'Nothing, nor tracks found of him neither.' If Elvaethor had been at liberty he would have made his way back, no matter what state he was in, and Tauriel knew it as well as Jack did. He looked her in the eye. 'We will do what we can to bring him home.'

She inclined her head. 'I know.'

It was on the tip of Jack's tongue to extend an invitation to join him, but he didn't. Much as she would hate to do so, she would have to decline. Her duty would keep her here. Thranduil would never allow his captain of the guard to ride out to rescue one who belonged to the dwarves.

Jack turned his attention to Thoren. 'I will take volunteers only. Dwalin has agreed to come, as have Flói and Nuri. I do not know who else.' But they had better be down by the gates when he returned.

Thoren could not come either, as much as he may want to, but Jack could tell that it was a struggle for him. 'Take care, Jack,' he charged him. 'And…'

'Bring him home, aye, I'll do my best.' And that was enough conversation as was needed in this. Jack had said all that he needed to, Dwalin was organising the rescue and he needed to be on the road as soon as possible. 'We will return as soon as we may. With Elvaethor,' he added, just in case that was not abundantly clear.

He left the room and made his way back to the gates, where a sizeable party had assembled, nearly forty in number. Most were dwarves, but some elves had come as well. It was tempting to weed them out, but Elvaethor had been one of them for longer than he had belonged to Erebor. It was foolish to assume that all bonds of friendship had been severed. None of the men of the alliance had shown up, which was not a surprise.

He would be sticking out like a sore thumb again.

But his grievances with the world were not for once foremost on his mind. He had a friend to save. All else would have to wait.

Hold on, Elvaethor, we are coming.

The party moved swiftly east. An elf by name of Erodir claimed that, if Jack could lead him to the place where he had separated from Elvaethor, he would be able to pick up the trail. It had not rained since that day and not many folk tried the roads these days, Erodir said, so some tracks should remain.

Loath as Jack was to take an elf's word for anything, he was hardly drowning in options.

The first few days were hard, yet uneventful. Conversation was almost absent entirely; the mood was too grim to allow for it. The company rode until dark, camped and was gone again at first light. Just as well no men had joined; they would never have been able to keep up.

Erodir was as good as his word; he found Elvaethor's tracks and led the company ably after them, never hesitating. Jack could not have done it himself, though he kept that admission to himself.

There was no one else to be seen during those first days; the landscape was empty and there were no tracks to suggest that they were not as alone as they seemed. This struck Jack as unsettling. Not so long ago this area had been crawling with spies, most of whom had not returned whence they came. Would it not make sense that the Easterlings sent out people to look for them the same as Jack's party now did for Elvaethor?

'They are not like the folk of Dale and the Lake,' Dwalin said when Jack raised this point with him. 'They are a warlike people.'

Jack scoffed. 'So are we.' By necessity, but most dwarves knew how to fight.

'Not like us,' Dwalin said. 'They have little honour. Kindness has been bred out of them almost entirely.' He shook his head in disgust. 'It comes from dwelling under the Shadow for such a long time.'

'They have chosen to serve Sauron,' Jack pointed out. 'They had a choice.'

'Ask yourself what kind of people would make such a choice,' Dwalin said. 'Whatever honour they may have had, they certainly would not have gained any after.'

Jack could not argue with that.

The company halted at a signal from Erodir. This had happened occasionally when the elf needed to study the tracks closer before they moved on, so Jack thought little of it until Flói appeared beside him.

'You had better come, Jack,' he said. 'The elf thinks he's found something.'

Not Elvaethor himself. If he had been there, they should have seen him in this empty land. Nevertheless, Jack dismounted and joined Erodir on foot, lest he accidentally trampled the evidence on the ground.

Erodir, uncharacteristically for an elf, did not mince words. 'There was a fight here, my lord,' he said. He was also, equally as uncharacteristically, polite. His fellows ought to take him as an example. 'The tracks suggest there was a small Easterling encampment over yonder, an outpost for the spies perhaps. Elvaethor followed his quarry to close by. I suspect he was then drawn into an ambush. They lay in wait behind those bushes.' He pointed in case Jack's eyesight had failed him since breakfast. 'The land slopes down there. They would have been out of sight.'

That did not seem right. 'Would not Elvaethor have seen them, or noted their presence in some other way?'

The elf looked… perturbed, which was not filling Jack with confidence. 'Yes, he would. It seems…'

The realisation hit Jack before Erodir could finish his sentence. 'He walked knowingly into the trap, didn't he?' And he had meant to deal with the scouts in what amounted to a fair fight rather than an assassination. He was honourable, after all. The idea would have appealed to him. 'How many opponents?'

'Twenty or so, my lord,' Erodir said. 'At least nine of whom did not return east.' He walked to the bushes, behind which nine small mounds indicated nine fresh graves. All were man-sized, which was no surprise.

'Are you sure…?'

This time Erodir spoke before Jack was finished: 'Elvaethor is not among them. Someone of his stature lay in bonds over there.' He pointed in the direction of a lone tree that looked like it was hanging on for grim death. 'He was bleeding, but no, he did not die. They must have put him on the back of a horse, for no footsteps lead from this place, only horse tracks.'

Alive then. He should feel relief that Elvaethor lay not in one of those graves, but being injured and captured by Easterlings was not as a rule a great indicator for a long life expectancy. And Elvaethor had slain nine of his attackers. It must have enraged them.

Twenty against one. Dwalin was right when he said they had no honour. That was no fair fight, not even for one of Elvaethor's standing.

We will not encounter honour in this war, he knew. It followed from this that perhaps they should forego some of their own in order to survive. But then what will we become?

He distracted himself by asking another useful question: 'How long ago?' The ambush, the fight, the burials, all of that would have taken time. Jack's party was far behind, but every little bit of lost time they could make good would mean that Elvaethor was in enemy hands that little bit shorter.

'A week,' Erodir replied. 'With a few days on either side as a possibility.' He gave Jack an apologetic look.

'We had better press on then.'

He could hardly blame the elf for failing to be here sooner. That blame belonged to Jack and to him alone. Erodir read more signs from the ground than Jack could even guess at. The way the ground had been turned over suggested a scuffle, but he would not have known roughly when or that Elvaethor was not in one of those graves. He may have wasted a day digging them up.

'Good work,' he added begrudgingly. 'Thank you.'

It was nice to see that even elves could occasionally be rendered speechless.

Another three days passed before Erodir informed them that the Easterling army was just beyond the horizon. It was about time too. Jack had been getting more restless by the hour. He'd had to remind himself that galloping east without abandon was unlikely to help him in rescuing Elvaethor. It was only that which had stopped him from doing exactly that.

The only consolation was that Elvaethor had still been alive when he had been moved; inspections of the camp sites left by the Easterlings – and a notable lack of any more graves – proved that. Unfortunately Elvaethor must have been in enemy hands for more than a week now. Only Mahal knew if he had survived that.

'We had best halt here,' Jack said. Much as he wanted to press on, charging in without a plan would avail them nothing. Here at least there was a small cluster of trees to offer some protection from prying eyes. 'And some of us shall sneak closer under cover of darkness.'

Since this was a sensible plan, all agreed. Darkness was still some hours away, but they had a plan and they were close now. It would have to do.

'What we need is to have a good look around camp without drawing attention,' Dwalin said when they sat down to strategize.

'There's not many among us who can pass for men,' Flói observed. He certainly never could with his short stature and stocky build.

'I will go,' Erodir volunteered to Jack's surprise. He turned to Jack. 'With your permission, my lord, I know Elvaethor well and I may hear or see something that may lead us in the right direction.'

Erodir was as elvish as they came, but perhaps in the darkness… 'I shall come with you.' The one time his mannish looks were an asset rather than a curse, he would use them gladly. Besides, he had not come so far only to send someone else in his stead.

'They'll have guards watching around camp,' Dwalin said pensively, looking both Jack and Erodir up and down. 'We'll take some and help ourselves to their garb.' He didn't say that they would still need tall guards. Jack knew he was tall even by mannish standards and Erodir was not much smaller. 'Helmets would help if we can get them.'

This plan was easily agreed by everyone. They made camp and waited for darkness.

It was a small group that set out: only Flói, Dwalin, Erodir and Jack, two to keep watch and two to sneak in. Sneaking closer was easy enough. The Easterlings seemed inattentive. There was an arrogance to the way that they camped here, openly and unapologetically, although technically this was their land. Jack would have been happy to stay off of it, had they not snatched Elvaethor.

They settled down to wait under cover of some bushes. It was not a long wait. The Easterlings may be on their own lands, but they were not so foolish as to believe that this meant that they were safe. After all, they had sent their scouts. It stood to reason the armies of the alliance would do the same.

Two figures appeared out of the darkness to their left.

'Circling the camp,' Flói whispered.

'Drunk,' Dwalin corrected. 'And away from camp to keep their officers from finding out.'

So no one would be surprised to find these two sleeping it off under some bush come morning. Even better. Jack would rather not that the Easterlings knew they were here until he had stolen Elvaethor back from them.

They waited until the drunkards passed in front of their bushes, then Jack grabbed the first one around the ankle. His victim went down and knocked himself out against a convenient stone. The other one had been treated in a similar manner by Flói, but he had only fallen. Dwalin helped the unconsciousness along by knocking him over the head. The struggles ceased immediately.

It was an unexpected boon that both men were tall. They were not as tall as either Jack or Erodir, but so long as they did not venture too close to the light, this should not be too obvious. Jack tucked the too-short trouser legs into his own boots – the Easterling soldier's boots pinched his toes in such a way to make walking impossible – and made note to not move his shoulders lest he tear the shoulder seams.

'You'll do, lad,' Dwalin said as he gave Jack a critical onceover. 'Not in broad daylight, but by night and firelight, aye, it'll do.'

It had better. Thank the Maker that the nights were already growing colder, so the cap he'd stolen from the Easterling soldier could hide his longer hair. Easterlings had a tendency to wear their hair on the shorter side, but Jack was not about to chop off his own to fit in. He stuffed it under the cap, turned up the collar of his jacket to hide the rest and hoped for the best.

While he could fit in, Erodir had more problems. The soldier whose clothes he'd stolen was tall, true enough, but he was a lot broader. Erodir, with his thinner elvish frame, looked like he was drowning in the garments. Flói had hit upon the idea to hold the whole ensemble together with a belt around the waist, but that only drew the focus to how ill-fitting the clothes were. Like with Jack, the cap hid his longer hair – as well as his ears – but the overall look was a younger brother dressing up in his older brother's clothes. He would never pass unnoticed, even with as little light as was available.

Erodir knew it too. 'I will draw the eye,' he acknowledged. Hard as it was to tell with elves, Jack reckoned that he was frustrated.

As was he, but there was nothing else for it. 'Then I must go alone.'

Dwalin and Flói did not like that, citing the dangers of going on his own.

Jack cut them off. 'Someone must go. I am the only one who can.' They could not argue with that, so Jack turned back to Erodir: 'Is there anything your senses can tell you that will aid me in this camp?'

Because the camp was vast. The Easterlings had mustered a greater force than he had anticipated in the relatively short time they had since Thoren defied the messenger at the gates. They were mustering for war already, he concluded. Thoren's answer never mattered. They would have come regardless. But at least this way we chose to fight rather than have it forced on us. As short as the preparation time had been, there had been time to prepare.

The size and location of the army at present implied another thing that Thoren would not be pleased to hear: this army would not wait for spring. They would fight in the heart of winter. Upon reflection this made sense: these people loved the dark better than the light, so they would naturally choose to fight when the daylight hours were fewest.

Erodir regarded the camp with concentration for a few minutes. Jack did not rush him, as much as he wanted to. They would have one chance to do this, so they had better do it right. Elvaethor could ill afford mistakes.

'I cannot know for certain,' Erodir began hesitantly at last, 'there are too many sounds and smells to confuse my senses for that, but I think that over there would be the place to begin your search.' He indicated a section a little to the south. 'Half a mile beyond the first tents is a section of interest.'

'Interest?' Jack asked.

'A smell of blood,' Erodir clarified. 'Newly spilled and old. I suspect that they would have washed away the old for their own, but…'

Elvaethor would have been awarded no such courtesy. As guesses went, this was not a bad one. Jack did not often appreciate elves, but their heightened senses were greatly useful. And, admittedly, as elves went, Erodir wasn't a bad one either.

Jack nodded. 'I will go and take a look,' he said. 'If indeed he is there, we shall have to arrange some diversion to focus their attention elsewhere.'

'Leave that to us,' Dwalin said. Jack had a suspicion that he already had some scheme in mind.

'If you enter the camp between those tents there, you should avoid being seen for some time,' Erodir said. 'That place is unguarded and the occupants of those tents are asleep.'

Jack inclined his head in thanks. As there was nothing to be gained by waiting he started on his way. The moon was hidden behind some passing cloud, so at least he was unlikely to be noticed. Nevertheless he took care to be as silent as he could be.

He needn't have bothered. None challenged him. He slipped between the tents Erodir had indicated and walked in as straight a line as he could to the area where Elvaethor might be. It was an effort to walk with an air as if he belonged. He did not speak the language, so when he did encounter men around campfires, he communicated a greeting with a nod of the head and a grunt. Apparently this was an accepted way of doing so, for he received similar responses in turn.

He must blend in better than he thought – oh, the wretched irony! – for none gave him so much as a second glance. The soldiers were utterly at their ease. They did not expect to be attacked and why should they? They were still on their own lands. And evidently they did not expect Elvaethor's people to attempt a rescue. Was that because they would not have ridden out to a friend's aid when he was captured? Did they measure all people by their own despicable standards?

He hoped to teach them the error of their ways this night.

Erodir's estimation of half a mile was not far off. There was one tent that stood a little ways away from the others, as if no one wanted to be near there. It looked dingy and uncared for. It was stained and the cloth was ripped near the top. The occupant would surely get wet when it rained.

There were no guards, no light, no movement of any kind. Jack could not smell it, but Erodir said that blood had been spilled. If Elvaethor was as injured as these things indicated, he would not be able to walk on his own. He would need help. And half a mile was a long way to carry a tall redheaded elf unnoticed.

Jack glanced around him one last time, saw no one and so stole into the tent. Where he nearly stumbled over a set of legs.

He grabbed the tent pole for balance just in time and held tight to it while he got his bearings. It was dark inside and his eyes needed a little time to adjust. Not as much time as a man would have needed, but longer than a true dwarf. But nothing could have adequately prepared him for the sight that was before him.

The good news was that he had indeed found Elvaethor and that he was alive. That was where the good news ended. One expected to see red when one encountered this particular elf, but it was meant to be contained to the top of his head. The red wasn't supposed to be all over. His clothes were in tatters, and there was blood everywhere. Most of it had dried, but not all, and in the tent the smell was enough to turn Jack's stomach. The only consolation was that at least Elvaethor appeared to be unconscious.

Which had not stopped the Easterlings from binding him hand and foot; he was trussed up like a pig for slaughter.

Jack had known that the Easterlings were a truly despicable people, but he had not truly realised the depth of their depravity. This was something one would expect of orcs. Was it any wonder they had allied with the Enemy; they clearly had very similar views on decency and treatment of others.

It was an effort not to start tearing everything and everyone apart in retaliation. It would be no less than they deserved.

He knelt down next to Elvaethor and touched his forehead. His elvish friend was burning with a fever. He moaned, muttered something unintelligible and slipped back into consciousness again.

It was utterly disheartening to see Elvaethor of all people brought so low. Growing up, Jack had believed the elf invincible. Nothing bad ever seemed to touch or faze him. He shrugged off injuries as if they were minor inconveniences and indeed was always soon restored to his usual cheerful self.

That illusion was brutally shattered now.

'Take heart, my friend,' Jack whispered. 'I will come back for you.'

As much as he wanted to pick him up and take him away now, to do so would mean both their lives. If all went well, he would be back within a few hours.

'Stay alive,' he charged his friend. 'I will not be long.'

The journey back was uneventful. This was probably for the best, as the effort to refrain from pummelling any deserving Easterling soldier who crossed his path would almost certainly have been beyond him. Before this night was out he meant to spill that rage in violence and dispense some justice for the torture that had been inflicted on Elvaethor.

'I found him,' he announced when he rejoined the others. 'We must move tonight.'

'Lad, that is…' Dwalin began.

Jack, who knew that Dwalin was about to suggest a day's delay, cut him off: 'Elvaethor does not have another day.' Judging by the state of him, he may not last another few hours without help. He followed that up with some arguments that would carry weight with Dwalin: 'We have no guarantee that this army will not move come dawn and then we would have to begin again tomorrow. We know where Elvaethor is now. And even if this army does not move this day, we are not so well concealed. We cannot take on this force by ourselves. If we are to stand a chance, we must operate by surprise and strike before they can organise themselves.'

'You mean to strike then?' Dwalin asked.

I mean to burn this camp down around their ears and if you had seen Elvaethor, you would wish the same. 'I mean to create such a diversion that they will not spare a thought for their prisoner and will not notice for hours that we have snatched him from underneath their very noses.' Ideally this distraction would also considerably thin out the ranks of the Easterlings.

Flói grinned. 'That is good,' he said. 'We've had some ideas.'

Jack had them organised and ready within the span of a little under two hours. There were some hours of darkness left and he meant to make good use of them. The further they were away before dawn, the better he would like it. Taking on the entire Easterling army with a surprise attack in the dark was one thing – his blood was still boiling enough to drown out the voice of reason reminding him that this might be a Bad Idea – but taking on the organised bulk of them during daytime, whilst trying to get a heavily injured Elvaethor home was something else.

All the more reason to stop dawdling and get on with it.

The greater part of their own meagre forces would provide the diversion – it would seem that Flói had the same idea as Jack in burning down as much as possible – while Jack would take Flói and Erodir into the more southern part to rescue Elvaethor. Having Flói at his side was a comfort, while Erodir's sharper senses would warn them of danger before it crossed their path.

The first part of their assignment was waiting, which Jack did not do well. It went against the grain to remain behind while others risked their lives. But it was necessary, so he grit his teeth and watched while his people charged into the camp, setting fire to all in their path. The reaction from the Easterlings was slow at first; they truly had not expected anything. When a reaction did come, all was confusion. The noise and the fire would make it look like a far larger force had invaded, and they could not decide whether they should fight all the spreading fires or deal with their attackers.

'Time to go.'

Unlike the others, they did not yell at the top of their lungs, setting fire to all in their path, but they did ride boldly into the camp on horseback. He was fully prepared to lay into the Easterlings with a will, but most of them had gone to deal with the fire and the invasion. Those who were still crawling out of their tents did not seem to realise that the figures on horseback were not their own officers.

I'll have an entire war to come to fight their ilk, Jack reminded himself. He would have the opportunity to fight them until he was sick of the sight of them. He need not all do it now, pity though that was. He was in exactly the right mood to do some damage.

Finding Elvaethor was no hardship; the tent stood out. It was still unguarded. They truly do not suspect that we would seek to liberate him.

All for the better.

'We won't all fit in there,' Flói observed. He rectified the problem by ripping the cloth off the poles. The fabric was frail enough to not hold up under such violence and as a result, the whole structure collapsed. 'There, that's done.'

Erodir inhaled sharply when he saw Elvaethor. Flói uttered a curse he would never have said in the presence of his mother.

'What have they done to him?' Erodir's tone was pure shock.

'We do not wish to know or understand.' Jack was already on his knees beside his friend, using his dagger to cut his bonds. It would not make him comfortable, but this at least was one injustice he could mend. Elvaethor himself did not respond, not even in weak moans.

'I…' Erodir was still struggling to speak in the face of such horror. 'I do not know where to start to tend to him.'

'We have no time to do so now.' They had been fortunate that their presence had been unnoticed for as long as it had. 'We must leave as swiftly as we are able and hope to find some place of safety where we may see to his wounds.'

Erodir did not like this, but he understood. 'What do you wish of me?'

'Can you ride with him before you?' If not, Jack would be able to do so himself, but he knew he did not have the gentlest touch. Elves ought to excel at that, so Erodir it was. Flói would never do for such purpose, as he was nowhere near tall enough to see over Elvaethor's head.

Erodir nodded. 'Yes. I will need both my hands. I cannot defend us.'

Flói showed a grim smile that boded ill for any Easterlings crossing their path. 'Leave that with us, Master Elf. We shall do what must be done.'

And, like Jack, he would be pleased to do so.

Increasing noise suggested that they would not long remain unbothered. It was time to leave. As gently as he could Jack lifted Elvaethor up into his arms. There was no resistance from him, no sound. His head fell against Jack's shoulder.

We will make them pay, he told himself. We will make them pay.

Erodir mounted up, so that he was ready to receive Elvaethor. Jack handed him over. 'Ride as fast as you can.'

'I dare not go faster than a trot without greatly harming him further,' Erodir said.

Jack agreed, as inconvenient as it was. He would bring Elvaethor back home alive. Killing him whilst rescuing him would defeat that purpose. Even so, Elvaethor would need a miracle to stay alive.

'We shall keep them away from you,' he vowed, mounting up again himself. 'Let us hope that our garb will at least confuse them some.'

The fighting and the fire were creeping closer to them. They had been lucky thus far, but now at last some Easterlings were cottoning on to the fact that someone was trying to steal their prisoner. The shouts of alarm changed in tone from 'stop the fire' to 'stop the intruders.' Jack did not have to speak the language to hear the difference between those two. The arrow that flew past his head was a good indicator as well.

'Flói, stay to his left!' he ordered. Jack's own larger body would take the brunt of any attack if he stayed to Erodir's right. What little protection he could offer Elvaethor, he would. Would that he had never needed to offer it at all. I should never have let him go alone.

The first Easterling leaped at him from behind a tent, which enabled Jack to do what he had wanted to do for hours: fight and take out his anger on some deserving target. And many such targets were keen to present themselves. So he fought.

From the corner of his eye he noted that Erodir, true to his orders, avoided the fighting and steered his horse towards the west as fast as he could. Loath to leave him without protection, Jack and Flói followed, taking down as many enemy soldiers as they found littering their path. He could not see what the rest of their company was doing, but the flames climbed high and it was screams of alarm and terror, not of war, that dominated.

We've dealt them a painful blow, Jack reflected as he and his companions at last fought themselves free of the Easterling encampment. He plunged his blade into another chest and, with his other hand, wrenched the man's torch from him. He is not going to need it anymore. He swiped at his remaining attackers and then hurled the torch at the nearby tents. It was quite satisfying to watch them catch on fire too.

The new fire gave the Easterlings something else to think about, which allowed Jack to break free and join his friends.

Dwalin had understood his mission and had pulled their people out before it grew truly dangerous. Elvaethor would not thank them if they saved his life at the expense of many others'. They were ready and waiting.

'Done?' Jack asked. 'Are all here?'

Dwalin give him a sharp nod. 'Aye, we're all here. Our elf?'

'Alive.' Were it not for the need to get as far away as they could before the Easterlings could organise themselves enough to give chase, he would have allowed Erodir to see to the worst of Elvaethor's injuries now. 'We must away.'

And so they went while behind them the Easterlings camp burned.

They rode all through the remainder of the night and some hours after sunrise until Dwalin deemed it safe enough to call a halt. On the eastern horizon the sky was still blackened with smoke. It seemed unlikely that the last fire had yet been quenched. This suited Jack well enough; the longer they were occupied with saving their own skins, the longer it would take them to take up the hunt.

'We may rest here for some hours,' Dwalin decreed. His superior experience meant that he had now taken over the lead. 'We must be on our way one hour after noon. We should not linger here any longer.'

Jack nodded his agreement, dismounted and made his way to Erodir, to aid him in whatever way was needed. He knew nothing of healing, beyond washing out and stitching the occasional wound, but he could follow instructions. Just this once, he did not think he would mind having an elf tell him what to do.

'Give him to me,' Jack said, reaching to take his friend from the horse, so Erodir could dismount himself. 'We have some hours. What do you need?'

Not for the first time Jack was glad of this elf's directness, for he replied without beating around the bush: 'Clean water, my healing supplies. A fire too if we dare to risk it.'

'We'll risk it.'

They could not offer much else in the way of comfort out here in the open, so they would offer what they could. Flói had laid out a bedroll, Nuri was building up a fire without being asked, Dwalin took the horse from Erodir, so the elf could get to work. Throughout it all, Elvaethor lay like dead. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated life.

'How may we assist you, Master Erodir?' Jack asked.

The elf seemed much recovered from the shock and now applied himself to his task with a brisk manner that was highly unusual in one of his race. He set them to removing Elvaethor's clothing – now only fit to be burned – washing the wounds and stitching those that did not require much care. When it came to wounds that needed care, they were unfortunately spoiled for choice.

They worked mostly in silence. The reality before them was too serious for words. And this is what the Enemy will unleash on our people, should he be victorious. It was a stark reminder of what was at stake.

It took some doing, but at last the blood was washed away and the wounds stitched. Jack had volunteered some of his own garments and although they were too big on Elvaethor – he had lost quite a lot of weight during his captivity – they were at least better than the rags that his own clothes had become. Jack ordered them to be burnt.

'He will live, I think,' Erodir said at last. 'Aulë must have given him the endurance of your people when he swore himself to your brother.'

If so, Jack would thank his Maker. 'Can we move him?'

'We must,' Erodir said, who fortunately understood the circumstances. 'It will slow his recovery to be sure, and he must rest once we return to Erebor. He will be bound to his bed for some time.'

Literally bound too, if Jack knew his kin at all. But there was no need to burden the elf with that knowledge.

'We will take all care,' he said and meant it. Jack meant to keep Elvaethor now that they had retrieved him.

And hopefully we have taught the Easterlings a valuable lesson in the process. The horizon was still dark, even though the smoke itself was not visible anymore, not to Jack's eyes anyway.

'We can let him rest for another hour or two,' Jack said. This was of course barring the sudden appearance of more Easterlings.

Erodir nodded with a look that plainly said that this was nowhere near enough.

Jack sat down next to Elvaethor to keep watch. Some of their party took the opportunity to snatch a few hours of sleep, but he was too much awake for that. He never slept easily above ground at any rate, especially during the daylight hours. It was too light, too exposed. Besides, the thought of an Easterling army only a few hours away from him killed all thought of sleep. He would keep watch over his friend instead.

Time passed. Nothing moved in the east and the elf on guard – if he had given his name, then Jack had already forgotten it – did not cry out in alarm. It would have been peaceful if he had felt less on edge.

After perhaps half an hour Elvaethor stirred. The pain this caused made him moan, and his eyes flew open, wide in panic.

'Peace, my friend,' Jack said, resting his hand against Elvaethor's chest lightly to prevent him moving and tearing his stitches. 'You are safe. We have rescued you.'

Elvaethor blinked. 'Jack?' His voice was hoarse – another first from him. Disuse or screams of pain, which would have caused that? Both, Jack suspected, which in turn made him wish he had killed more Easterlings than he actually had.

'You are safe,' he repeated. 'We took you away from them.'

Elvaethor took a deep breath and winced. Most movements would be painful to him now. 'How?' Monosyllabic questions were not exactly usual for him. He'd always more than enough to say. It was a trial just getting him to shut up. Now even this short query sounded like it took tremendous effort.

Jack told him in detail. It saved Elvaethor from having to ask questions and it gave Jack something to do that was not punching some tree in lieu of the enemies he really wanted to pummel into oblivion. 'We are some hours away now,' he concluded at last. 'They are at present too busy to put out all the fires we started. Dwalin reckons we've burnt a good deal of their supplies, which should cause some more delays on their end.'

Elvaethor nodded and unsuccessfully suppressed a groan at the agony that must cause. 'Thank you.'

Jack shrugged. 'I wouldn't know what for. You would have done the same for me.'

Elvaethor took his hand. 'Thank you.' Both words felt needlessly emphasised, but in the name of not annoying the sick – or the very grievously wounded – Jack offered no more protests and instead nodded. 'You are welcome. Get some sleep while you can, my friend. We'll ride for home soon.'

This drew the first smile from Elvaethor since this whole disaster started. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'Home.'

He fell asleep with the smile still on his face.

Next time: Aragorn and Thráin's first meetings. There's storms and goblins and wargs, oh my!

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Until next week!