The Music in My Heart
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,806
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
75
Views:
3,806
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 54 To Which Fate Binds You
Title: The Music in My Heart, Chapter 54 (b)
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating: R
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: Adult Fanfiction; Fanfiction
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 54 --- To Which Fate Binds You
“Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together,
but do so with all your heart.”
Marcus Aurelius
*****
The snarls and growls of the black speech filled the air, shattering the uneasy quiet that had hovered over their troops since leaving the ruins of the village. Uruk Hai swarmed over the rise to their left, their black armor a dull, matte counterpoint to the gleaming metals and polished leather of the alliance forces. A smaller, less disciplined line of Orcs followed hard at their heel, howling and snapping at the air.
Swearing in frustration at the size of the band, Elrond nudged Kaane forward to take position next to Seere. Erestor immediately appeared at his side, a second body between her and the Uruk. In the weeks before they had marched from Imladris, the two elves had secretly formulated strategies to protect Seere. Knowing Elrond’s leadership would demand he focus on the enemy, they had agreed Erestor would remain with his daughter at all times, her safety his primary focus.
Nodding his head to acknowledge his friend’s arrival, Elrond raised his sword calling for his detachment to fire their arrows. A sharp whistling noise to his left alerted him that Seere had no intention of hiding, as an arrow from her bow swept past finding its target in the forehead of one of the Uruk Hai.
Gritting his teeth, the elf lord ordered, “Luitho i philinn! Gurth an chyth vîn” (Fire your arrows!) (Death to our enemies!)
A steady hail of arrows had thinned the yrck and the number of front running Uruk Hai had been reduced by nearly a third. Noting the moment was fast upon them when bow and arrow would no longer be practical, Elrond signaled Erestor to be ready to restrain Seere from following his advance. Satisfied to note that his friend had maneuvered her to the back of the force, he called to his troops, “Iuitho vegyl gîn! Nin aphado!” (Draw your swords! Follow me!)
Hoping to use their mounts to full advantage, the elven lines charged into the midst of the onrushing enemy. The shrieks of anger, rage, and pain swelled around him, as the hot lash of bloodlust teased as his senses. Slashing and hacking his way through the throng, Elrond struggled to control his emotions as the long forgotten sensation threatened to swamp his thoughts, rob him of reason save for destroying the foul beasts that imperiled his people.
Calling to his troops, Elrond reversed direction as his forward momentum carried him to the rear edge of the yrck lines. Finding their foe had left their backs exposed, a cruel sneer carved his face, knowing this sealed their doom. The lethal blades of the elven warriors moved quickly to cut through armor and bone, cleaving arms and severing heads. Within less than a quarter of an hour, their position had been cleared and secured.
Looking to his right, Elrond noted that Glorfindel’s detachment had drawn the attention of the majority of the enemy. Realizing the Uruk sensed the evil given off by the artifact, the peredhel called for his troops to reform and charge. Leading the assault, the elven leader found himself in the midst of another pitched fight, one that was soon joined by the troops of other divisions. Within minutes the tide had completely turned against the enemy.
Noting that the Uruk Hai continued to attack despite their obvious loss, Elrond mused, /They want that tablet at any cost… their master must not have taken kindly to the failure of the first party of raiders. This patrol is prepared to die rather than return empty-handed. I have never seen yrck fail to run for cover once the battle is lost. They are only brave when they have the upper hand./
Fighting his way to Glorfindel’s side, he took position at his seneschal’s side. Seeing blood flowing down the ancient warrior’s back, he was troubled to see a black arrow embedded in his friend’s left shoulder. Mindful there was nothing he could do to treat the wound in the middle of a battle, he drove his sword into the neck of a yrck that had latched onto Asfaloth’s saddle.
Wrenching the loathsome beast away from his friend, he reached over to steady Glorfindel as he swayed. /Damn! That arrow must be poisoned! I need to treat him now! Though the battle is almost at an end, we do not have the time to wait until then!/
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Haldir fought his way to his lover’s side. Grabbing his arm, Haldir shouted, “Give it to me! I will protect it. Go with Elrond while we finish here. NOW!”
Seeing the dazed glare Glorfindel turned on the Lorien elf, Elrond moved quickly to help Haldir free the saddlebag from massive white stallion. Calling to Celeborn and Legolas who fought nearby, Elrond demanded, “Stay with Haldir. Glorfindel is poisoned.”
Ignoring Glorfindel’s protests, Elrond spoke directly to his legendary mount. “Asfaloth, hear me. Your master is poisoned. We must get him to safety. Follow me.”
Nudging Kaane forward, Elrond scattered the few yrck before them, finishing those he could, as he led the way clear of the fighting. Calling to Seere and Erestor to help him, the elf lord sprang from his mount and rushed over to ease Glorfindel to the ground. “Rest easy, mellon nin. Haldir is fine and he will keep the artifact safe. You need to remains still while I treat your wound. It is poisoned and I must see to it immediately.” (my friend)
Looking up, he spoke to Seere. “Please, have several of your antidotes ready. We may have to apply different ones until we find the one that works. Erestor, please help me remove the arrow. Have a compress ready as it will bleed heavily. We will let it flow for a brief moment to help purge some of the poison.”
Without stopping his ministrations, he called to Elrohir as he dismounted near them. “We will treat any whose injures are dire now. The rest need to be stabilized so they can travel. We need to make haste to the garrison.”
Nodding his head, the younger peredhel grabbed his medical kit and hurried over to a fallen man. Finding him dead, he sighed heavily before moving off to tend other lying nearby. Joined by another healer, the two bent to their task, ignoring the sounds of the waning battle.
Freeing his friend’s shoulder from his heavy armor as much as he could, Elrond snapped off the protruding end of the arrow knowing the tip itself was cruelly barbed to prevent easy removal. Elrond traded a look with Erestor. “Glory… we are going to remove the arrow. I will need to force it out the front of your shoulder for I cannot risk pulling it out. Focus on Seere. Ready?”
Receiving a stiff nod, Elrond grasped the hilt of the arrow and pushed the broken stalk the remaining way through in one swift motion, reaching up to grasp the bloody tip to complete the extraction. Drawing Glorfindel’s limp body against his shoulder and chest for support, he watched as the wound gushed with blood. Once he was satisfied as much of the poison as could safely be purged had passed, he glanced up at Seere and signaled her to douse the wound with an antiseptic wash.
Noting that the seneschal’s features drained of the little color they had retained, he urged, “Glory… focus. You must stay awake while we treat you.”
Worried by the faint groan he received, he began to pack the first antidote mixture Seere offered him into the wound. Once this was done, he pried open the Balrog Slayer’s lips and poured the tepid strengthening tea she had made slowly down his throat. It took several minutes for him to coax Glorfindel to drink most of the bitter draught.
Placing fresh compresses into his hand, Seere whispered, “I added a little hops into the mix, melme. It will not make him sleepy, but it should ease his discomfort.” (love)
Shifting as Haldir dropped down beside them, Elrond helped ease his friend into his lover’s arms. Cradling his close, Haldir reported, “Legolas and Aranuir are guarding the artifact. How is he?”
“This first antidote does not seem to be working. We must try another. Erestor, flush the wound and we will apply another.” Glancing up at Seere, he asked, “What next, beloved?’
Hesitating a second before answering, she asked, “He is allergic to willow’s bark is he not?”
“Aye, he breaks out in a severe rash and it makes breathing difficult.”
“We may have to risk that. From the scent of the residue on the arrow, I think he is poisoned with a foul concoction that only responds to a mixture based on willow’s bark… the one we developed last summer. Nothing else has proved effective in combating this poison. What say you… do we risk it?” Seere questioned.
A quick check of the Captain’s vital signs showed he had not responded to the first mixture and that his heart rate had begun to drop alarmingly. “Do it… we have no choice for he is failing. Be prepared with countermeasures if he reacts severely.”
Taking a quick breath to steady her emotions, Seere handed Elrond the base mixture even as she handed her father a liquid distillation of willow’s bark. “I have a decoction of foxglove, ginseng, coltsfoot, and purple coneflower* to help offset a reaction that might effect his heart or lungs, as well as, a borage/comfrey ointment to treat his skin.”
“Have both ready. We will give him the decoction immediately, for it will help strengthen his heart in any case.” Nodding to Erestor, he began to apply the dry mix of herbs. Once he was satisfied he had a thick enough application, the other elf began to saturate the wound with the liquid.
Within seconds, Glorfindel’s body began to quake as the powerful mixture entered his blood stream. “Seere, the foxglove mixture! I will hold his mouth open… pour as much of the dose as you can down his throat in a slow steady stream.”
Watching the warrior’s face suffuse with a bright red color, the elf maiden began, repeating the prayers she had been offering since she first saw their friend slumped on the back of his mount. It took several fraught minutes for her to trickle the solution down his throat as his airway constricted in reaction to the willow’s bark. Her father and Haldir gently messaged the clinching muscles easing the task.
Satisfied she had managed to get most of the dose into his system, she dropped to sit before him, taking his hand in hers. Elrond grasped their joined hands for a moment before moving his hand to rest over the ancient elf’s heart. A soft glow emanated from his fingertips, as he allowed his healing energy to assist the potion in calming Glorfindel’s erratic heartbeat and breathing.
The four elves sat in a tense silence as they waited to see if their efforts had been successful. Haldir cradled the shivering form of his lover close, whispering words of comfort and love into his ear. Noting the slight relaxation in the set of Elrond’s shoulders as he began to check the warrior’s vital signs, the other three raised hopeful eyes to his.
Leaning down to press his ear to Glorfindel’s chest, the healer listened for signs of improvement in his patient’s heartbeat. Finding that it had indeed settled into a steady, if somewhat slow rhythm, he released the breath he had been holding. “His heart is beating at an acceptable rate… a little slow, but that is to be expected given the potions he has been given. His breathing has eased and his color is slightly improved. I believe he is as stable as we could hope at this juncture.”
Rising, he pulled Seere and Erestor to their feet. Resting his hand on the Lorien elf’s shoulder, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Haldir, we must see if we can be of help with our other wounded. Let me know if his condition changes and I will return immediately. Seere will leave you some of the ointment to apply to his skin for it looks to be inflamed from his allergy.”
Seere placed a small clay pot of salve in Haldir’s unsteady hands, leaning down to whisper brief instructions in his ear. Gathering their supplies, the three hesitated for a moment to reassure themselves that Glorfindel still lived. Sighing, they turned to offer their assistance to the other wounded. Sadly, there were many that needed their care.
*****
Elrond looked up from bandaging a chest wound he had been forced to suture to judge the time of day. Noting that the angle of the sun was far lower than the last time he had checked, he estimated Anor would descend for the day in less than two hours. Knowing they were perhaps ten miles from the garrison and the relative safety of its fortifications, the healer let his eyes scan the area.
Finding his aide nearby offering water to several wounded men, he called him over. “Mellon nin, are there others that require treatment before we resume our march?” (my friend)
“I believe your son is treating the last of the serious wounds, though there are many with less serious injuries that will require attention once we arrive at the Gondorian garrison. Prince Aranuir sent several scouts ahead to alert them to our approach. Lord Grór has had his dwarves prepare several litters to carry the worst of our wounded.” Pausing, Lindir offered his lord the waterskin seeing the fatigue in Elrond’s eyes. “Shall I spread the word that we will soon be ready to march?”
“If you would.” Turning back to his patient, he stopped and reached out to grasp Lindir’s arm before he could rise. “How many, meldir?” (friend)
“Four men, a dwarf, and two elves… one of Prince Legolas’ warriors and a young archer from Lorien.”
Closing his eyes against the ancient pain of leading warriors into battle, Elrond nodded but made no comment. After a moment, he spoke. “Let Prince Aranuir and the others know we will be ready to march shortly.”
A firm hand gripped his shoulder before a crisp “As you will, my lord” signaled the minstrel’s departure.
/After Mordor, I had hoped never to ride into battle at the head of an army again. I feel the weight of each of them I failed… led to their doom. May the Valar forgive me my errors, even as they comfort those we have lost./ Sighing with regret at this fate, Elrond bent back to the task before him.
*****
Mordor, Second Age 3440
Lifting a full skin of water, the High King began to work his way through the rows of wounded. Bending, he gently cupped the back of a young elleth’s head and let the tepid water flow down her parched throat. The gratitude in her eyes robbed him of breath. Chocking back tears at the injustice of one so young being called to war, he settled his hand on her shoulder in silent comfort and support.
A faint voice managed to croak, “Thank you, my king.”
Trapped by her dimming gaze, he offered, “Nay, I am the one that owes you my thanks. Middle-earth is blessed by your bravery, penneth. You are a worthy child of our creator.”
Ereinion bend his head so that his ear touched her lips to hear her final words. “As are you, my king.”
“Nay, I have failed you and our maker, penneth. Forgive me,” he managed in a broken whisper.
Oblivious to the tears coursing down his cheeks, the High King gently closed her eyelids and pulled a tattered, yet clean handkerchief from his pocket. Pouring a small amount of the precious water onto the square, he began to wipe the layer of dust and grime from her face, knowing there would be none to do it before her burial. Resigned to the fact he had done all he could to remove the filth of Mordor from her skin, he took a moment to straighten her warrior braids and smooth the long flow of blue-black hair.
Absorbed by his self-appointed task, the King was unaware that his actions were being watched. Several wounded elves, the scattered group of healers and their assistants, and his Herald watched in silence. They felt his pain at another senseless death, his grief over the loss of another young life, and the burdens that plagued the heart of the elf that led them.
*****
A/N: * Foxglove is the source of a natural form of digitalis (a heart medicine) and purple coneflower is the source of Echinacea. Ginseng is a blood purifier. Coltsfoot is an herb used to treat lung complaints.
Feedback appreciated!
Author: Sorsha
Fandom/Pairing: Elrond/OFC, Glorfindel/Haldir, Elladan/OFC, Elrohir/Legolas, others implied
Rating: R
Warning: AU (Story set 770 years after ROTK); Slash and het.
Feedback: This is my first fanfic, so constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: Adult Fanfiction; Fanfiction
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Alex Cat for her help in betaing this fic.
Disclaimer: Any of the residents of Middle-earth and Aman that you recognize belong to Prof. Tolkien’s estate. The same is true about Middle-earth and Aman. I’m only visiting and admiring the “views”.
Summary: Sauron may be gone, but his legacy of evil still lingers. As Middle-earth faces the threat of another dark lord, a party of elves departs Aman on a mission for the Valar, a mission of mercy long delayed.
Chapter 54 --- To Which Fate Binds You
“Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together,
but do so with all your heart.”
Marcus Aurelius
*****
The snarls and growls of the black speech filled the air, shattering the uneasy quiet that had hovered over their troops since leaving the ruins of the village. Uruk Hai swarmed over the rise to their left, their black armor a dull, matte counterpoint to the gleaming metals and polished leather of the alliance forces. A smaller, less disciplined line of Orcs followed hard at their heel, howling and snapping at the air.
Swearing in frustration at the size of the band, Elrond nudged Kaane forward to take position next to Seere. Erestor immediately appeared at his side, a second body between her and the Uruk. In the weeks before they had marched from Imladris, the two elves had secretly formulated strategies to protect Seere. Knowing Elrond’s leadership would demand he focus on the enemy, they had agreed Erestor would remain with his daughter at all times, her safety his primary focus.
Nodding his head to acknowledge his friend’s arrival, Elrond raised his sword calling for his detachment to fire their arrows. A sharp whistling noise to his left alerted him that Seere had no intention of hiding, as an arrow from her bow swept past finding its target in the forehead of one of the Uruk Hai.
Gritting his teeth, the elf lord ordered, “Luitho i philinn! Gurth an chyth vîn” (Fire your arrows!) (Death to our enemies!)
A steady hail of arrows had thinned the yrck and the number of front running Uruk Hai had been reduced by nearly a third. Noting the moment was fast upon them when bow and arrow would no longer be practical, Elrond signaled Erestor to be ready to restrain Seere from following his advance. Satisfied to note that his friend had maneuvered her to the back of the force, he called to his troops, “Iuitho vegyl gîn! Nin aphado!” (Draw your swords! Follow me!)
Hoping to use their mounts to full advantage, the elven lines charged into the midst of the onrushing enemy. The shrieks of anger, rage, and pain swelled around him, as the hot lash of bloodlust teased as his senses. Slashing and hacking his way through the throng, Elrond struggled to control his emotions as the long forgotten sensation threatened to swamp his thoughts, rob him of reason save for destroying the foul beasts that imperiled his people.
Calling to his troops, Elrond reversed direction as his forward momentum carried him to the rear edge of the yrck lines. Finding their foe had left their backs exposed, a cruel sneer carved his face, knowing this sealed their doom. The lethal blades of the elven warriors moved quickly to cut through armor and bone, cleaving arms and severing heads. Within less than a quarter of an hour, their position had been cleared and secured.
Looking to his right, Elrond noted that Glorfindel’s detachment had drawn the attention of the majority of the enemy. Realizing the Uruk sensed the evil given off by the artifact, the peredhel called for his troops to reform and charge. Leading the assault, the elven leader found himself in the midst of another pitched fight, one that was soon joined by the troops of other divisions. Within minutes the tide had completely turned against the enemy.
Noting that the Uruk Hai continued to attack despite their obvious loss, Elrond mused, /They want that tablet at any cost… their master must not have taken kindly to the failure of the first party of raiders. This patrol is prepared to die rather than return empty-handed. I have never seen yrck fail to run for cover once the battle is lost. They are only brave when they have the upper hand./
Fighting his way to Glorfindel’s side, he took position at his seneschal’s side. Seeing blood flowing down the ancient warrior’s back, he was troubled to see a black arrow embedded in his friend’s left shoulder. Mindful there was nothing he could do to treat the wound in the middle of a battle, he drove his sword into the neck of a yrck that had latched onto Asfaloth’s saddle.
Wrenching the loathsome beast away from his friend, he reached over to steady Glorfindel as he swayed. /Damn! That arrow must be poisoned! I need to treat him now! Though the battle is almost at an end, we do not have the time to wait until then!/
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Haldir fought his way to his lover’s side. Grabbing his arm, Haldir shouted, “Give it to me! I will protect it. Go with Elrond while we finish here. NOW!”
Seeing the dazed glare Glorfindel turned on the Lorien elf, Elrond moved quickly to help Haldir free the saddlebag from massive white stallion. Calling to Celeborn and Legolas who fought nearby, Elrond demanded, “Stay with Haldir. Glorfindel is poisoned.”
Ignoring Glorfindel’s protests, Elrond spoke directly to his legendary mount. “Asfaloth, hear me. Your master is poisoned. We must get him to safety. Follow me.”
Nudging Kaane forward, Elrond scattered the few yrck before them, finishing those he could, as he led the way clear of the fighting. Calling to Seere and Erestor to help him, the elf lord sprang from his mount and rushed over to ease Glorfindel to the ground. “Rest easy, mellon nin. Haldir is fine and he will keep the artifact safe. You need to remains still while I treat your wound. It is poisoned and I must see to it immediately.” (my friend)
Looking up, he spoke to Seere. “Please, have several of your antidotes ready. We may have to apply different ones until we find the one that works. Erestor, please help me remove the arrow. Have a compress ready as it will bleed heavily. We will let it flow for a brief moment to help purge some of the poison.”
Without stopping his ministrations, he called to Elrohir as he dismounted near them. “We will treat any whose injures are dire now. The rest need to be stabilized so they can travel. We need to make haste to the garrison.”
Nodding his head, the younger peredhel grabbed his medical kit and hurried over to a fallen man. Finding him dead, he sighed heavily before moving off to tend other lying nearby. Joined by another healer, the two bent to their task, ignoring the sounds of the waning battle.
Freeing his friend’s shoulder from his heavy armor as much as he could, Elrond snapped off the protruding end of the arrow knowing the tip itself was cruelly barbed to prevent easy removal. Elrond traded a look with Erestor. “Glory… we are going to remove the arrow. I will need to force it out the front of your shoulder for I cannot risk pulling it out. Focus on Seere. Ready?”
Receiving a stiff nod, Elrond grasped the hilt of the arrow and pushed the broken stalk the remaining way through in one swift motion, reaching up to grasp the bloody tip to complete the extraction. Drawing Glorfindel’s limp body against his shoulder and chest for support, he watched as the wound gushed with blood. Once he was satisfied as much of the poison as could safely be purged had passed, he glanced up at Seere and signaled her to douse the wound with an antiseptic wash.
Noting that the seneschal’s features drained of the little color they had retained, he urged, “Glory… focus. You must stay awake while we treat you.”
Worried by the faint groan he received, he began to pack the first antidote mixture Seere offered him into the wound. Once this was done, he pried open the Balrog Slayer’s lips and poured the tepid strengthening tea she had made slowly down his throat. It took several minutes for him to coax Glorfindel to drink most of the bitter draught.
Placing fresh compresses into his hand, Seere whispered, “I added a little hops into the mix, melme. It will not make him sleepy, but it should ease his discomfort.” (love)
Shifting as Haldir dropped down beside them, Elrond helped ease his friend into his lover’s arms. Cradling his close, Haldir reported, “Legolas and Aranuir are guarding the artifact. How is he?”
“This first antidote does not seem to be working. We must try another. Erestor, flush the wound and we will apply another.” Glancing up at Seere, he asked, “What next, beloved?’
Hesitating a second before answering, she asked, “He is allergic to willow’s bark is he not?”
“Aye, he breaks out in a severe rash and it makes breathing difficult.”
“We may have to risk that. From the scent of the residue on the arrow, I think he is poisoned with a foul concoction that only responds to a mixture based on willow’s bark… the one we developed last summer. Nothing else has proved effective in combating this poison. What say you… do we risk it?” Seere questioned.
A quick check of the Captain’s vital signs showed he had not responded to the first mixture and that his heart rate had begun to drop alarmingly. “Do it… we have no choice for he is failing. Be prepared with countermeasures if he reacts severely.”
Taking a quick breath to steady her emotions, Seere handed Elrond the base mixture even as she handed her father a liquid distillation of willow’s bark. “I have a decoction of foxglove, ginseng, coltsfoot, and purple coneflower* to help offset a reaction that might effect his heart or lungs, as well as, a borage/comfrey ointment to treat his skin.”
“Have both ready. We will give him the decoction immediately, for it will help strengthen his heart in any case.” Nodding to Erestor, he began to apply the dry mix of herbs. Once he was satisfied he had a thick enough application, the other elf began to saturate the wound with the liquid.
Within seconds, Glorfindel’s body began to quake as the powerful mixture entered his blood stream. “Seere, the foxglove mixture! I will hold his mouth open… pour as much of the dose as you can down his throat in a slow steady stream.”
Watching the warrior’s face suffuse with a bright red color, the elf maiden began, repeating the prayers she had been offering since she first saw their friend slumped on the back of his mount. It took several fraught minutes for her to trickle the solution down his throat as his airway constricted in reaction to the willow’s bark. Her father and Haldir gently messaged the clinching muscles easing the task.
Satisfied she had managed to get most of the dose into his system, she dropped to sit before him, taking his hand in hers. Elrond grasped their joined hands for a moment before moving his hand to rest over the ancient elf’s heart. A soft glow emanated from his fingertips, as he allowed his healing energy to assist the potion in calming Glorfindel’s erratic heartbeat and breathing.
The four elves sat in a tense silence as they waited to see if their efforts had been successful. Haldir cradled the shivering form of his lover close, whispering words of comfort and love into his ear. Noting the slight relaxation in the set of Elrond’s shoulders as he began to check the warrior’s vital signs, the other three raised hopeful eyes to his.
Leaning down to press his ear to Glorfindel’s chest, the healer listened for signs of improvement in his patient’s heartbeat. Finding that it had indeed settled into a steady, if somewhat slow rhythm, he released the breath he had been holding. “His heart is beating at an acceptable rate… a little slow, but that is to be expected given the potions he has been given. His breathing has eased and his color is slightly improved. I believe he is as stable as we could hope at this juncture.”
Rising, he pulled Seere and Erestor to their feet. Resting his hand on the Lorien elf’s shoulder, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Haldir, we must see if we can be of help with our other wounded. Let me know if his condition changes and I will return immediately. Seere will leave you some of the ointment to apply to his skin for it looks to be inflamed from his allergy.”
Seere placed a small clay pot of salve in Haldir’s unsteady hands, leaning down to whisper brief instructions in his ear. Gathering their supplies, the three hesitated for a moment to reassure themselves that Glorfindel still lived. Sighing, they turned to offer their assistance to the other wounded. Sadly, there were many that needed their care.
*****
Elrond looked up from bandaging a chest wound he had been forced to suture to judge the time of day. Noting that the angle of the sun was far lower than the last time he had checked, he estimated Anor would descend for the day in less than two hours. Knowing they were perhaps ten miles from the garrison and the relative safety of its fortifications, the healer let his eyes scan the area.
Finding his aide nearby offering water to several wounded men, he called him over. “Mellon nin, are there others that require treatment before we resume our march?” (my friend)
“I believe your son is treating the last of the serious wounds, though there are many with less serious injuries that will require attention once we arrive at the Gondorian garrison. Prince Aranuir sent several scouts ahead to alert them to our approach. Lord Grór has had his dwarves prepare several litters to carry the worst of our wounded.” Pausing, Lindir offered his lord the waterskin seeing the fatigue in Elrond’s eyes. “Shall I spread the word that we will soon be ready to march?”
“If you would.” Turning back to his patient, he stopped and reached out to grasp Lindir’s arm before he could rise. “How many, meldir?” (friend)
“Four men, a dwarf, and two elves… one of Prince Legolas’ warriors and a young archer from Lorien.”
Closing his eyes against the ancient pain of leading warriors into battle, Elrond nodded but made no comment. After a moment, he spoke. “Let Prince Aranuir and the others know we will be ready to march shortly.”
A firm hand gripped his shoulder before a crisp “As you will, my lord” signaled the minstrel’s departure.
/After Mordor, I had hoped never to ride into battle at the head of an army again. I feel the weight of each of them I failed… led to their doom. May the Valar forgive me my errors, even as they comfort those we have lost./ Sighing with regret at this fate, Elrond bent back to the task before him.
*****
Mordor, Second Age 3440
Lifting a full skin of water, the High King began to work his way through the rows of wounded. Bending, he gently cupped the back of a young elleth’s head and let the tepid water flow down her parched throat. The gratitude in her eyes robbed him of breath. Chocking back tears at the injustice of one so young being called to war, he settled his hand on her shoulder in silent comfort and support.
A faint voice managed to croak, “Thank you, my king.”
Trapped by her dimming gaze, he offered, “Nay, I am the one that owes you my thanks. Middle-earth is blessed by your bravery, penneth. You are a worthy child of our creator.”
Ereinion bend his head so that his ear touched her lips to hear her final words. “As are you, my king.”
“Nay, I have failed you and our maker, penneth. Forgive me,” he managed in a broken whisper.
Oblivious to the tears coursing down his cheeks, the High King gently closed her eyelids and pulled a tattered, yet clean handkerchief from his pocket. Pouring a small amount of the precious water onto the square, he began to wipe the layer of dust and grime from her face, knowing there would be none to do it before her burial. Resigned to the fact he had done all he could to remove the filth of Mordor from her skin, he took a moment to straighten her warrior braids and smooth the long flow of blue-black hair.
Absorbed by his self-appointed task, the King was unaware that his actions were being watched. Several wounded elves, the scattered group of healers and their assistants, and his Herald watched in silence. They felt his pain at another senseless death, his grief over the loss of another young life, and the burdens that plagued the heart of the elf that led them.
*****
A/N: * Foxglove is the source of a natural form of digitalis (a heart medicine) and purple coneflower is the source of Echinacea. Ginseng is a blood purifier. Coltsfoot is an herb used to treat lung complaints.
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