p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Androdel and his men stood a little over shoulder's length apart, searching every leaf and twig for any survivors, especially the /There was a larger group a half mile ahead of them, shouting and calling for anyone who may have survived. Considering the odds, far more of them had made it than Androdel had expected. All thanks to Sirya's careful planning of their camp placement in comparison to the river. The orcs had to squeeze through a pass, making it easier to cut them down and allowing more of them to /"Sir!" one of his men called, and Androdel ran over. He saw the mess of brown hair from the side of the bush, and ran around the tree. Emarth, Sirya's guard, was strewn out on the forest floor, dried blood on his lips. His eyes were frozen open in death, his once fair skin /"No," Androdel murmured, kneeling beside the fallen captain. There was a blanket at his side, a tipped skin of water beside him and lembas covered in /Telion, the healer from the stronghold, knelt beside him, praying. "I cannot believe it," he murmured, taking Emarth's hand. He saw the darkened wound at his thigh, but that wasn't enough to kill. He rolled the body over, and saw the broken arrow in his /He swore, his eyes pricked by tears. "Sirya left him with all of these supplies, probably hoping we would find him or that he could come back for him. He was in a lot of pain, he thrashed around quite a bit." he whispered, the blanket a few feet from him where he had knocked the skin over on its side. He clenched his jaw. What an unceremonious death for such an elf. A hero, a skilled swordsman beyond compare, lying on the forest floor with insects, covered in blood. But when was death fair? What was a beautiful death?br /"I am so sorry, Mellon-nin." he pulled branches from his hair, closing his /"Telion! Androdel!" They stood, running ahead to where they were being called. Telion's feet couldn't carry him fast enough, a brach clipping his cheek. He ran around the tree in question, and a long, dark haired body was on its side, leaves and twigs caught in his clothes and /"Sirya," Telion called, kneeling down and rolling him onto his back. He coughed, his pale eyes /"It is Telion," he said, the arrow still protruding from the young prince's abdomen. "It is going to be alright."br /"Emarth."br /"Do not worry about that now," he insisted, and Sirya coughed /"We need to go back for him."br /Telion pulled his scalpel from his bag. "Did you touch it?"br /"No. I was not sure if it would do more harm than good, so I left it. I tried to keep going on to the fortress, but I heard sounds from that direction as well, so I hid."br /Telion opened the wound more and Sirya grunted. "He is dead, is he not? That is why you will not talk to me about him."br /Telion paused, looking up at Androdel. "Yes, Sirya. Emarth is gone. I was with him just before I came over here."br /Sirya fell silent, and Telion wretched the arrow from his abdomen, making him moan. He quickly put pressure on the wound, and pointed to the torch. The guard brought it closer, and he stuck his scalpel into the /"We have to bury him. We cannot leave him out here for the carrion," he gasped, his teeth /"We will, Sirya, we will bury him properly. I promise you." He said, and stuck a stick between Sirya's teeth. Sirya bobbed his head, his hand on Telion's thigh. Telion stuck the white hot scalpel in the wound, and Sirya's screams echoed in the trees. He made sure to get all he had to in the one attempt, not having to heat the scalpel yet again. Once he was pleased, he took to stitching up the rest of the /"You must be careful. This wound is incredibly close to a few organs that would spell an untimely death for you. Take it slow."br /"Thank you, Telion." he breathed, hair plastered to his face by sweat. "You have always been too good to me."br /Telion smiled, tapping his cheek with his hand. "Get him on a stretcher, he is delusional."br /Sirya laughed, "do not forget Emarth," he breathed, his smile /"He is already with us, I would never leave him."/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"They secured a stretcher to a horse, strapping Sirya to it. He rode heavily guarded, with the other injured, back to the stronghold. They went slow to prevent damage, and Sirya was in and out of consciousness. He knew they had arrived when the stretcher was dismounted from the horse, Loth's voice in the back /"Where is Emarth?"br /"He is gone, we buried him in the forest."br /Loth cursed. Sirya's stomach clenched. Emarth's death was his doing. His nana was dead and gone. His father could be too. He wasn't plagued by guilt and horror like he expected to be. He felt guilty, yes, but more so he felt empowered. Their deaths could not be in vain. He would take his family's risks, and their confidence in him, and he would show them they were right to believe in him. He would not go to Valinor shrugging or making excuses. He would go to Valinor /"Alert the king."br /"No." Sirya called. "I am not mortally wounded, there is no reason to worry him."br /"Hir nin, he must be called regardless. The men march on Mordor, this war will soon change."br /-/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Greetings from Imladris. Attached is a detailed report from Gondor. After the battle on Pelennor Fields, Lord Aragorn, Lord Legolas, and the remaining active force engaged Sauron' forces at the Black Gate, allowing the hobbits to throw the ring into Mount Doom. Barad Dur and the lands of Mordor fell into the earth, scattering the forces. Because of this, we do not know the whereabouts or the condition of any members of the invasion force at this time. When word is received I will share it with you. Otherwise, I will see you at the meeting next /Elrond/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Thranduil's scowl was hidden behind his fingers, bridged before /"So we still do not know if he is alive?"br /Amrahil /Thranduil sighed, looking over at Sirya. He was lying in Legolas' bed, wrapped in bandages. He'd just returned from the Frontline, already making plans to return and working from his bed. He was his /"The search for Baineth?"br /"No sign, sir."br /Thranduil stroked his /"That meeting promises the arrival of Estel if he lives, as well as Legolas."br /"I agree, I think you should attend," Sirya /Thranduil stared at him. His clear eyes were /"Sirya-"br /"The southern border still fights Dol Guldur. I shall return there."br /"You have no guard."br /"Amrahil has agreed." Thranduil shot Amrahil a look and he looked /"I cannot leave the land of our family's sacrifice open to torment. My latest strategy shall be our final in this war."br /Thranduil blinked. "you shall finish Dol Guldur? The war?"br /"Yes, Daeradar."br /He swallowed. Baineth and Legolas wanted this for him. This gift of his was selfish to /"Go. I shall send word of any news."br /Sirya nodded. "thank you, Daeradar. The Wood shall be purged on your return."br /He kissed his grandson's forehead before making his way back to his room. He sat at his desk, his head in his /He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He hung on a hope that Legolas would be alright, that this war would end and his son would return home. He hung on a hope that Sirya would see his father again. That Baineth would be found alive. That maybe, just maybe, some semblance of a normal life would return. He knew this was bold, this hope. Legolas had marched on the Black Gate with a force less then a thousand. His grandson wanted to march on Dol Guldur with a single battalion. Baineth was missing 6 months later without a single hair on her head found. Emarth was dead, the strongest of any elf he'd ever met. These were the moments he wished for his own father, his wisdom, his /He prayed to the valar, prayed in place of rest and food, most days, to bring his son home. That night, perhaps, he begged a touch more./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Thranduil had never outfitted his grandson in full armor, but armor Sirya wore. His raven hair braided behind his circlet, it matched the royal chest plate clipped to him. His velvet navy cloak billowed in the wind, his horse sidestepping to accommodate. But Sirya was marble, his eyes set. He wasn't bent on revenge. No, his mind and heart were clear of poisoned hatred. He was bent on righting wrongs, and ensuring his legacy, skill, and family's sacrifice, were not questioned or in vain. He would bring Greenwood to peace, and he would do it with cleanliness, like the snap of a /"I shall return with victory, and with the freedom of Greenwood."br /Thranduil stared into his grandson's /"I want you to return safe."br /He half smiled. "I shall, Daeradar. I love you."br /"I love you, my boy."/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"They secured a stretcher to a horse, strapping Sirya to it. He rode heavily guarded, with the other injured, back to the stronghold. They went slow to prevent damage, and Sirya was in and out of consciousness. He knew they had arrived when the stretcher was dismounted from the horse, Loth's voice in the back /"Where is Emarth?"br /"He is gone, we buried him in the forest."br /Loth cursed. Sirya's stomach clenched. Emarth's death was his doing. His nana was dead and gone. His father could be too. He wasn't plagued by guilt and horror like he expected to be. He felt guilty, yes, but more so he felt empowered. Their deaths could not be in vain. He would take his family's risks, and their confidence in him, and he would show them they were right to believe in him. He would not go to Valinor shrugging or making excuses. He would go to Valinor /"Alert the king."br /"No." Sirya called. "I am not mortally wounded, there is no reason to worry him."br /"Hir nin, he must be called regardless. The men march on Mordor, this war will soon change."br /-/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Greetings from Imladris. Attached is a detailed report from Gondor. After the battle on Pelennor Fields, Lord Aragorn, Lord Legolas, and the remaining active force engaged Sauron' forces at the Black Gate, allowing the hobbits to throw the ring into Mount Doom. Barad Dur and the lands of Mordor fell into the earth, scattering the forces. Because of this, we do not know the whereabouts or the condition of any members of the invasion force at this time. When word is received I will share it with you. Otherwise, I will see you at the meeting next /Elrond/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Thranduil's scowl was hidden behind his fingers, bridged before /"So we still do not know if he is alive?"br /Amrahil /Thranduil sighed, looking over at Sirya. He was lying in Legolas' bed, wrapped in bandages. He'd just returned from the Frontline, already making plans to return and working from his bed. He was his /"The search for Baineth?"br /"No sign, sir."br /Thranduil stroked his /"That meeting promises the arrival of Estel if he lives, as well as Legolas."br /"I agree, I think you should attend," Sirya /Thranduil stared at him. His clear eyes were /"Sirya-"br /"The southern border still fights Dol Guldur. I shall return there."br /"You have no guard."br /"Amrahil has agreed." Thranduil shot Amrahil a look and he looked /"I cannot leave the land of our family's sacrifice open to torment. My latest strategy shall be our final in this war."br /Thranduil blinked. "you shall finish Dol Guldur? The war?"br /"Yes, Daeradar."br /He swallowed. Baineth and Legolas wanted this for him. This gift of his was selfish to /"Go. I shall send word of any news."br /Sirya nodded. "thank you, Daeradar. The Wood shall be purged on your return."br /He kissed his grandson's forehead before making his way back to his room. He sat at his desk, his head in his /He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He hung on a hope that Legolas would be alright, that this war would end and his son would return home. He hung on a hope that Sirya would see his father again. That Baineth would be found alive. That maybe, just maybe, some semblance of a normal life would return. He knew this was bold, this hope. Legolas had marched on the Black Gate with a force less then a thousand. His grandson wanted to march on Dol Guldur with a single battalion. Baineth was missing 6 months later without a single hair on her head found. Emarth was dead, the strongest of any elf he'd ever met. These were the moments he wished for his own father, his wisdom, his /He prayed to the valar, prayed in place of rest and food, most days, to bring his son home. That night, perhaps, he begged a touch more./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;" /p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.12px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif, 'GNU Unifont'; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Thranduil had never outfitted his grandson in full armor, but armor Sirya wore. His raven hair braided behind his circlet, it matched the royal chest plate clipped to him. His velvet navy cloak billowed in the wind, his horse sidestepping to accommodate. But Sirya was marble, his eyes set. He wasn't bent on revenge. No, his mind and heart were clear of poisoned hatred. He was bent on righting wrongs, and ensuring his legacy, skill, and family's sacrifice, were not questioned or in vain. He would bring Greenwood to peace, and he would do it with cleanliness, like the snap of a /"I shall return with victory, and with the freedom of Greenwood."br /Thranduil stared into his grandson's /"I want you to return safe."br /He half smiled. "I shall, Daeradar. I love you."br /"I love you, my boy."/p