Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
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Chapter seventeen: The Arms of an Angel

The smell of food had set his stomach to protesting, even half asleep as he was. He had not eaten in over two days and he was ravenous. He felt the trunk behind him, and knew that he had not moved from the same position the entire night, for his muscles ached with a vengeance. He could feel his arm, bound tightly to his chest, throbbing mercilessly and setting his brow with a deep frown as he slowly opened his eyes, focusing on the silvery grey irises of his friend, just inches away from his own. The unmistakable aroma of steeping herbs came to him as Rafno broke the silence.

“Here, drink this slowly,” he instructed, producing a cup of steaming liquid, his eyes searching those of his waking friend, before standing once more and moving away to the other wounded elves and their healers.

Hwindo brought it to his lips, blowing softly as he pulled his knees up, shifting uncomfortably before taking a tentative sip of the brew. It wasn’t that bad, he decided, as he sniffled, for his nose hurt and his eye pulsated with every beat of his heart.

Dima sat beside him then, giving him an appraising look, before handing him an apple, which Hwindo snatched up, taking a small bite, for his lip was split.

“Perhaps I should take charge, Hwindo,” said Dima, wondering if his lord would acquiesce.

Turning towards the captain, Hwindo thought for a moment before nodding.

“Yes, that would be wise, Dima,” he admitted, remembering Rafno’s words from the evening before. Taking charge of three detachments required of a leader much energy and concentration, and he had neither of those things.

Smiling and nodding, Dima stood, bound for the main camp, for they would move out in a scant few minutes in order to take advantage of the daylight hours. The three captains had decided that The Company would journey together with Barabor and Gondien a little further north; then, they would separate, leaving The Company to continue home, together with the injured from the Eastern and Western detachments, and their respective healers. All in all, thirty of them were to return, more than half of them bound for the healing halls; Antien and Balentar were going to be busy, thought Dima, resolving to send forward a runner once they were closer to the fortress, for they would need to make preparations. It was not something they did lightly though, for they knew the anguish this caused to family and friends at home, yet it could not be helped. The healers needed some forewarning of what to expect, and then Beria’s family need to be informed, before they heard it from someone else.

And so it was that after lunch, the three detachments slowed to a halt, for here, they would part ways. Dima placed one hand on Barabor’s forearm and another on Gondien, smiling at them both.

“You have done great service to the Greenwood and to The Company, my brothers, and we thank you and your warriors,” he said, his voice carrying to the troops behind their captains, provoking wide smiles from them all, yet Dima had not finished.

“Warriors salute!” he yelled, startling the captains as their horses danced back.

Dismounting, The Company, with the exception of Hwindo, lined up before the eastern and western detachments, as they began their dance of defiance, their voices strong and proud, their movements powerful and skillful, and as they came to the end, they were joined by all that looked on for that final battle cry, setting the skin to tingling and lifting their morale more than any rallying speech ever could. As the last waves of sound echoed through the woods, Hwindo raised his good arm to the departing captains as they wheeled around and separated into two groups, one to the east, one to the west, their souls lifted and their hearts soaring, and as they cantered away and the silence broke, they began to speak of the day they fought with The Company.

Hwindo rode in the midst of those that returned to the fortress, along with the other wounded warriors. His spare shirt covered his back and shoulders, yet remained open at the front to accommodate his bound arm and shoulder. Some, like Hwindo, rode alone but others did so together with their companions, asleep or very nearly so, leaning back against their strong chests. He observed them all; they had, miraculously, suffered only one death, excellent results for such a battle, he knew, yet there were four with blade injuries that were serious, although not life-threatening. He committed the information to memory for the report he would give to his father and Bandorion, for he felt strangely out of himself and wondered if he would be able to stay awake and alert for the time it would take to get back.

Throughout the day, his warriors took their turns to ride abreast of him, handing him water or food, excuses to check on his state of health, he knew, and as the day wore on and the light began to fade, his body ached with a vengeance. He had managed on his own thus far but he was now secretly willing Dima to call a halt for the night. However, it was another half an hour before that came to pass, by which time Hwindo’s face was pale, the skin under his eyes a sallow grey, his face set in a grimace that left little to the imagination. Glammo walked over to Hwindo’s now still horse, holding his arm up for the commander to steady himself as he dismounted. However, he landed clumsily, and a treacherous moan escaped him before he could right himself.

Rafno and Pengon were upon him in a flash, holding their hands out to support him.

“It’s alright, I just need to sit down, ‘tis all,” he reassured them.

“Then come,” said Rafno, leading the small group towards a shady area near a stream, tactically the best place for the wounded. The other healers followed their lead then, until their makeshift healing halls were set up, their patients settled and attended to.

Game was readily available in this, well-protected area, and so Dima deployed hunters and foragers to provision them, while the others secured the camp and the watch was set. They would be safe here, and tomorrow, late afternoon, they would be home once more, the frigid body of their brother upon the sturdy back of his bereft mount.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The light of day had now completely disappeared and Hwindo dozed under a tree, Glammo, Ram ‘en and Koron en’ sitting close by.

Rafno, however, was moving amongst the wounded, conversing with the other healers, helping them when he could. He had not stopped since yesterday – ‘he must be exhausted’, thought Glammo, as he watched him from afar, for his lord had also endured captivity, and although he had not been tormented, the psychological toll had been taken – and he wondered then, if perhaps that was precisely why he had not stopped, for to do so would be to think about it, and to think about it would be to suffer. One glance at Dima told him that he was not the only one to have noticed Rafno’s hyper-activity.

Pengon and Rhrawthir joined them then, having surrendered their string of rabbits and a bag full of wild vegetables, fruit and nuts to Idhreno, who, together with Lindo would prepare their food.

Sometime later, Dima’s patience had come to its considerable limit, and so he approached Rafno, placing a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Come, Rafno, sit with us and take your ease, my friend,” he encouraged.

“A moment, Captain, I would speak to…,”

“No, Lieutenant – come.” It was not a request, as Rafno had assumed it to be, and so he simply nodded, and followed the Captain to their fire, leaving the other two healers with the wounded.

Sitting before the crackling fire, Rafno turned to the captain, understanding beginning to dawn on his face.

“Dima, I am well – you need not worry. ‘Tis only that my father taught me well, and when there are wounded to be tended, I cannot, in all honesty, remain seated, ‘tis beyond me,” he said, frowning at Dima, willing him to see the truth of his words, and he did, for he nodded and smiled.

“Then forgive me for wrenching you away from your duties, but you have not stopped since your captivity, then the battle, and now the journey home – I would have you arrive whole and hail, Rafno. Eat with us at least, before you go back to them.”

Smiling, he nodded; indeed the smells of the steaming bowls that were being distributed around the camp were sending his stomach into a frenzy.

He smiled up at Idhreno, who held out a bowl to him, which he accepted with both hands, in a sign of humble thanks.

The stew tasted like paradise to Rafno, as he shoveled the turnip, carrot and meat into his mouth, the gravy slipping down his throat as he savoured the tender vegetables, however, he paced himself a little better than the previous night when he had gorged himself and then made everyone laugh with his resulting flatulence. Now scraping the bottom of the bowl noisily, he was interrupted by Ram en’s urgent voice.

“Rafno, come.”

Turning his head, he realized that the warrior knelt over Hwindo, who was lying flat on the ground, his bowl of untouched food beside him.

Scurrying to his feet, he knelt down on the other side, not before handing the untouched bowl to Lindo, who sat staring at it longingly.

“It is as I suspected, infection has set in, and a fever has begun,” he murmured as he placed one hand on the hot brow.

“Hwindo, are you awake?”

All he received was a slight movement of the head, nothing more.

“I need hot water in two cups, then a bucket of river water and cloths.”

Pengon and Rhrawthir went to do his bidding, as Rafno looked to Dima.

“I should be able to control the fever with Boneset, but it will not relent until the bone is properly set. He will have to ride with me tomorrow, Captain.”

“He will be uncomfortable with that, but you are right, Rafno. I encharge you then,” he finished, sitting back and allowing the healer to work.

The camp settled down to rest, yet the fires remained. Rafno stayed close to Hwindo, who had mostly remained in a restless sleep, the herbs keeping the temperature from rising too high. At one point, Ram en’ squeezed his shoulder, bidding him rest for a while, taking up the cloth and placing it softly on his lord’s brow. Elladan nodded gratefully and stood, stretching his cramped muscles before moving to sit before the fire, beside Glammo and Lindo, who were both awake and talking quietly, careful not to disturb those that slept a little further away.

“How is he?” asked Glammo, his eyes remaining on the dancing flames.

“Poorly, Glammo. You know, his wounds could have been much worse given the circumstances, and yet few would have provoked such pain, and yet that is nothing in comparison to what is to come,” he sighed as he began to make himself a mint tea.

“What do you mean?” enquired Lindo.

“I mean that once we are at the fortress, that bone must be aligned, Lindo. ‘Tis no easy task for the technique is delicate, and yet it is the suffering it will inflict that makes it hard, my friend.”

“Elbereth,” he sighed. “What barbarity, what depravity and malice – you know, I have seen it so many times, and yet I have never really come to expect it – it is always a shock to me, after all these years.”

“I suppose you just – bear it better than most, Lindo. I know that more than one of the younger warriors were deeply affected by the events leading up to our rescue – the anguish of waiting, the powerlessness to stop the torture being inflicted, and then the very nature of it.”

Silence followed before Glammo broke it with a soft question of his own.

“Why did they kill Beria, Rafno? I mean, why not Hwindo?”

Elladan had been dreading this question, yet he had known that it would be posed, sooner or later; he did not want to tarnish Beria’s name, and so he thought well before answering his friend’s question, but he had hesitated so that both Lindo and Glammo now sat watching him openly, wondering at why he had not answered immediately.

“Beria was, hard pressed to shield his heart he, he broke down, his mental suffering such that it pushed the beast beyond its own limits to control its inbred desire to kill. It no longer sought information, only to satisfy what was, by then, its unbearable urge to destroy – it simply left Hwindo and poured all its savagery on Beria…”

“’Tis rule number one in our training, this you already know,” began Lindo. “Both Idhreno and Hwindo would have seen that coming. The question is that you never know who will be on the receiving end, the one that breaks or some other, unwitting victim – they are unpredictable in that heightened state of frenzy.”

“You speak truly, Lindo,” said Rafno. “’Tis exactly what happened, for both Idhreno and Hwindo had tried to stop it, tried to bring him out of it, but he just – he just could not,” he said emphatically as he looked at them both meaningfully,” it was beyond him, was not in his nature.”

Long moments of silence ensued as they pondered Beria’s predicament, yet Glammo could no longer hold back the other question he needed to ask.

“Rafno,” he said quietly. “What was it like, to witness a death so sweet as Idhreno related to us all…”

“It was – magical, my friend, and when the attack began and I knelt at Hwindo’s side, the light was still in his eyes, and for one, brief moment,” he said as he looked to them both, “for one brief moment, it was indescribable bliss.”

Both warriors heard the words, and then smiled widely, pure joy gracing their faces, for if they had ever doubted, had ever felt the slightest glint of skepticism – now, there was none, it was as if death itself, had become a little easier to bear.

Rafno sipped on his mint tea, turning back momentarily to Ram en’, who caught his gaze and nodded with a smile, ‘no change then’, he thought, and that was good, for from now until they got back, that was the only thing he could wish for.

………………………………………………………………………………

Dawn crept upon them, and the camp slowly stirred, the healers taking stock of their patients and setting their herbs to steeping. Rafno had slept deeply, and now, his muscles ached from having stayed in the same place for too long.

He suddenly came face to face, albeit upside down, with Pengon, who bent over him, his face an unreadable mask. Waiting for Rafno to sit up, he placed a cup of steaming tea and a chunky bar of lembas in his hands before walking away to his duties.

Rafno smiled as he sipped slowly, his eyes straying to Hwindo’s position, where Lindo and Glammo sat. Morning seemed to have brought a slight improvement, for although pale and drawn, Hwindo sat back against a tree, sipping tea.

It was a strange thing, he pondered, for it was so easy to slip into a routine with Hwindo. They had fought together, yes, but they had also shared the mundane things in life – eating, washing, drinking – and at those times, he was just another elf, of flesh and bone, a fellow warrior. And yet after the events of the previous evening, after what he and Idhreno had witnessed when Beria had perished, he was acutely reminded that this was not just another elf, another warrior – this elf was Yavanna’s protégé, a king, blessed with green magic. He suspected he was not alone with these thoughts, for he thought his companions were treating Legolas with special respect today, and it seemed that his friend realized too, yet took it in his stride, for what to do? Experience had surely taught him that things would, eventually, return to their natural state, just as they had after his crowning in Imladris, for the very same thing had happened there.

One of Gondien’s men had approached Dima and was now talking urgently with him.

“Captain, one of the wounded has worsened, we need to make haste,” he reported.

“Alright, and Hwindo?” he turned to Rafno with questioning eyes.

“He seems better than yesterday. I will give him more Boneset and some birch bark for the pain. He hides it well, but he is in agony, Dima.”

“Rafno, I have ridden with Hwindo for many centuries, I need no convincing,” he smiled, watching as Rafno dipped his head in embarrassment, for ‘what was he thinking’? Of course he would know, and so he returned the smile, albeit somewhat ruefully, to which Dima smirked openly now, clapping him on the shoulder before striding away to help lift the camp.

Sitting silently beside Hwindo, he appraised his patient as he began to fill a cup with hot water, selecting the herbs he would use and throwing them into the steaming liquid. His mind was also frantically searching for a way to tell his friend he would have to ride accompanied – by him.

“Relax, Rafno. I know what you would say,” he said quietly.

Elladan chuckled as he answered his friend. “You have robbed me of my moment of glory, for I was about to spin a tale even Nanern would be proud of!” he said, yet Legolas did not respond to the joviality.

Sobering immediately, he reached for the herbs and handed them to Legolas, who reached out one, shaky hand, nodding his thanks and testing the temperature, before gulping it down.

“I will be back in a moment; do you need anything before we depart?”

“Nay, just a short journey to the trees and back.”

His gaze lingering on the subdued commander, Elladan went in search of Dima for the order of the day. He found him taking council with the healers.

“Captain,” he acknowledged, as he waited patiently for Dima to finish.

“Rafno,” he nodded.

“Captain, what is our plan for the day?”

“We ride in ten minutes, at a moderate pace, for time is of the essence for some. And before you say it, I know that a slower pace would be more comfortable for most, but Maethor’s life is in the balance and we must strike a compromise. We should arrive mid-evening.”

“I understand, will we stop on the way?”

“Frequently, but briefly.”

“Alright, thank you, Captain.”

“You are welcome, Rafno.”

It had been short, sharp and efficient, yet Dima had taken all the decisions he himself would have, and so he walked back to Hwindo, who he found leaning against the tree, on his feet, his bow and quiver in one hand.

“Rafno, can you strap this to our mount, oh, and this,” he said, pointing at Yaavan, which was propped up against the same tree.

“Of course, we leave in ten minutes.”

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Legolas held his seat for the first part of the journey, in which he distracted himself by asking his friend of his life, of his relationship with Galdithion, what he would do once he returned to Imladris. Elladan had satisfied his curiosity in the knowledge that he did it to distract himself from the pain and the fever, yet truth be told, he had not minded at all.

However, as the day progressed and after various stops along the way, Legolas became quieter and quieter. Elladan felt the heat emanate from his body, felt his muscles slacker as his head began to loll from one side to another, and so he slowly snaked one arm around his friend’s chest. It was a strange moment, for this was an intimate gesture in his culture, one only lent by lovers or close friends. However there was no protest, indeed quite the contrary, as the Forest Lord leaned back against his friend’s solid chest, allowing his head to rest against his sturdy shoulder and stop the retched swaying. He felt safe, anchored to solid rock, and he surrendered, for his body ached, and his mind wandered, and the face of his love came to his mind’s eye.

“Glorfindel,” he whispered, before closing his eyes.

Elladan increased the pressure of his arm around his friend’s torso, for he was falling into fevered reverie, and he knew he would not be contested, and as the name of his legendary friend escaped the fevered lips, he smiled indulgently at the momentary loss of control, for Legolas, in his moment of weakness, had called upon his strength, his Noldorin Lord, his Golden Sacrifice.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours later, and the company of warriors now traversed the more densely populated areas of the Greenwood, marking their relative proximity to the fortress. Dima chose the moment to send Rhrawthir ahead to warn of their imminent arrival and of the numbers and nature of their wounded. Dima had chosen him because as a close friend of Beria, he would be able to break the news to his family, rather than leaving them to find out by chance when they arrived.

“Rhrawthir, ride with haste, report to Antien and Commander Bandorion, speak with our fallen brother’s kin, and then seek us out in the halls of healing.”

“Aye, Captain,” he saluted formally, earning himself a nod from his Captain as he wheeled his steed northwards and galloped away in a cloud of dust.

Those sharing the same road swiftly moved off to the side, placing their hands over their hearts when they caught sight of the wrapped body transported on one of the mounts and whispering silent prayers for safe passage. Those on foot watched them as they passed, bowing or holding out their hands as if to touch from afar, watching in concern as the wounded rode before their comrades, some unconscious, others awake yet wishing they were not. Yet this time, there was no humble acknowledgement from The Company, for they had neither the time nor inclination for pleasantries, their mission was dire.

Each member of The Company was acutely aware of their commander’s progress in the arms of their healer, Rafno. His health had deteriorated in the last hours, and was now insensate, held aloft by the strength of their comrade’s arms. His glorious hair, however tussled it was, fanned out over Rafno’s shoulder, giving the impression the Noldo wore a mantle of gold, strangely erotic to the eyes of Glammo, who rode behind them. Yet they all wore a stern grimace upon their faces, for the journey had been unexpectedly hard, and alas, they had lost a brother.

The injured warrior that had so worried the healers that same morning was faring worse, they would need to increase their pace if they were to avoid a second death on this mission, and so Dima called for more speed and The Company moved from a brisk trot to a loping canter, as the first rays of orange began to bathe the now healthy forest in the waning light of day. Just a few more hours and they would deliver their brothers to the healing halls and blessed recovery.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Thranduil sat in his office, Aradan and Bandorion before him as they briefed their king on the events at the council and barracks.

It was Aradan who was relating an argument that had exploded between two advisors over the importation of dairy products from Dale, while Bandorion sat staring out of the window, thoroughly bored with the chief advisor’s explanations. It was then that he noticed the gates opening, the operators turning the wheels frantically – something was wrong, he thought, as his body tensed, and Thranduil’s attention was garnered.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The gates, the gates are being opened with urgency…a member of The Company rides in with all haste.”

Thranduil closed his eyes to steady his violently thudding heart. A runner had been sent ahead, and he knew what that meant, and although it sounded selfish even unto his own ears, he prayed it was not his son that warranted the urgency.

They had been expecting The Company back in two or three days – the fact that they were arriving before meant something had, indeed, gone wrong.

“Go, Commander, and report to me immediately.”

“Yes, my Lord,” bowed the commander, striding from the king’s offices, bound for the gates.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Rhrawthir had arrived, disheveled, covered in dust and out of breath – his heart in his mouth for the news he was to deliver…

As he dismounted, he was met by Antien, whose quick perusal of the warrior told him he was well, tired and heavy of heart, but well, and so he cocked his head to the side in silent enquiry.

Remembering his training, he proceeded to give his report in succinct yet direct key words. “The Company rides two hours behind me. They carry 15 wounded, Commander Legolas amongst them, one serious sword injury, and – one death,” he finished, his voice failing him as he bowed his head in sorrow.

Antien’s face fell as his eyes widened. “Who,” he whispered.

Facing the healer once more and calming himself as he had been taught to do, he squared his shoulders and pronounced the name that Idhreno had used to tell the tale of his friend’s last moments.

“True Heart Beria,” he said proudly, his voice wavering slightly as his eyes filled with unshed tears.

Antien dipped his head, for the lad had been new to The Company, his first mission, the son of an Evergreen Wood forester.

A hand on his shoulder brought Antien back to the present as he acknowledged the presence of Prince Bandorion.

“My Lord,” began Antien. I will inform you of the events, yet I beg you give leave to… uh…,” faltered Antien, for he realized he knew not the warrior’s name.

Bandorion was about to answer for him, yet he was beaten to it.

“I, am Rhrawthir.”

‘Indeed’, thought Bandorion as his eyebrows rose - this young one had already earned himself his warrior name. There was a story to be had here, for sure.

“Indeed, Rhrawthir; my Lord, Rhrawthir has a sad duty to perform, for Beriadan is lost and he was a good friend. Allow him to warn the family before their son is brought home?”

“Of course, Rhrawthir. Report to me once it is done.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, as he mounted once more, his destination, the outlying village where Beria’s family were to be found.

………………………………………………………………………………….

The time that his brother had taken to obtain information and return to his offices seemed as a lifetime to Thranduil, who paced the room anxiously, while Aradan sat watching him. Lainion had arrived not five minutes ago and now joined the small family in their seemingly interminable wait.

A brisk knock had them all on their feet before Bandorion, watching him for any sign of tragedy, and they found it.

“What has happened,” asked Thranduil slowly.

Both Aradan and Lainion had subconsciously moved to stand closer to their king, for if anything had happened to Legolas…

“My Lord. The Company approach with haste, to arrive in less than two hours. Commander Legolas is injured but his life is not in danger. There are 15 wounded, one seriously so, and one loss, my Lord, one ‘True Heart Beria’…”

Thranduil’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, for his heart beat so fast the need for air was making him breathe hard.

“Rhrawthir has gone to inform his family before the arrival, and Antien and Balentar are warned of what to expect. We are drafting in other available healers, and the other families are being informed now. Shall I make arrangements for the funeral rites tomorrow, my Lord?”

It was no time for jubilation, and yet Thranduil’s heart flipped in joy when he had heard that simple afterthought… ‘his life is not in danger’. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself this one gesture of weakness, for his brother knew him well, envied him even, for the relationship he had with his son, one that Bandorion had never had, thanks mainly to his ex-bonded mate.

What ensued was a flurry of activity – each elf going about his business, making preparations for horses, for the injured, the kitchens were preparing to make food fit for convalescing elves, families were being informed, herbs were being collected, water set to boiling, warriors taken off leave to form an itinerary detachment to cover the gaps left by The Company until they were fit to return. The list was long, yet so were the years the Greenwood had suffered so many similar situations, it was second nature to them now, efficient as no others when it came to warfare and its aftermath. All they needed to do now, was to wait, for soon, the tense calm would be over, and the healing and grieving would begin.
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Arcane Land