Round Robin
Chapter 21
By Saber

"I should be moving faster, making better time. Valar only knows what is happening to my sons while I hobble along..."

To any casual observer, Elrond was making very good time and 'hobbling' would have been the very last word chosen to describe his gait. However, it was painfully obvious to the elf that his steady mile-eating lope was being seriously hindered by the injury his ankle had suffered. Every step sent white-hot fire racing up his leg. His sons, skilled healers all of them, would have recoiled in horror at the strain he was putting on it when obviously something had torn.

It was the heart-rending thought of his sons in danger that made Elrond smother the inner healer that violently protested against his actions. He was a father, first and foremost. There was no room for concern about his own well-being, only for that of his children.

His imagination was working furiously to supply him with every possible horrific scenario they could be in at this very moment. Elrond almost would have welcomed the pain knifing through him if it would help to drive away those unspeakable images.

His palms were sweaty, Elrond noted with a detached sense of surprise. He hadn't sweated in a very long time. Absently he wiped his hands on his tunic and kept running.

Deep inside the elf lord, hidden in an almost forgotten and studiously ignored corner of Elrond's spirit, dwelled a warrior. Now reawakened after so long lying dormant, it granted him the focus that he so desperately needed and allowed him to push past the pain and exhaustion and call upon strength he'd forgotten he even possessed.

And if he was brutally honest with himself, Elrond wasn't only racing to reach his sons-- though that was the undeniable force that drove him. His soul also ached to leave the ruins of Angband far behind. An evil that could never be cleansed clung to the land and it made the elf lord lightheaded if he allowed his senses to linger on it too long. The earth was long past crying out against it. It had simply withered under the oppressive darkness.

The destruction of the ancient stronghold had rent the terrain wide open in some places, pushing the rocks up in small mountains in others. Long jagged cracks that belched superheated jets of steam split the rocky ground. It was mind-boggling to consider the power that had been leveled against this place.

Distracted by the moisture once more gracing his palms the elf wiped his hands again and spared a moment of concentration to shoot a blistering glare down at the traitorous appendages. Elrond stopped running and stared at his hands.

He wasn't sweating--he was bleeding.

His startled gaze followed the crimson trails up his arm to the makeshift bandage hastily wrapped around the gash Moririme had dealt him. It was soaked. Blood steadily dripped through the cloth and ran down his arm. Elrond growled an irritated oath. That cursed she-elf had probably nicked a vein.

He hadn't even noticed, automatically tuning out the throbbing pain in his arm.

The elf tore the sleeve off his uninjured arm and quickly set about wrapping it tight over the other makeshift bandage (the remains of his other sleeve), knotting it with his teeth. The wound needed stitching but there was nothing to be done about that here. Elrond just hoped that the bleeding would not worsen--he needed a clear head.

Just as he finished tying it off the ground under his boots gave an ominous rumble. Elrond froze, straining his oppressed senses to detect any danger. The tarnished earth did not speak to him as it would have anywhere else; and almost too late the implications of the steam jets he had passed before and the small crack he now stood over clicked into place.

The ground shook again and Elrond launched himself to the side striking the rocky ground hard as a small geyser of scorching hot steam shot out of the crack, searing his leg... his already injured leg. Elrond sighed even as he curled in on the limb, battling this new wave of pain. Thank the Valar for small mercies--at least he wasn't further debilitated by the injury of his still hale leg.

The elf lord took a few more precious minutes to find his center. In his mind's eye all the pain and worry, everything, faded into a hazy darkness until the only thing left was a picture of his sons and Legolas, safe, healthy, smiling and laughing as they rode their horses through Imladris. It burned bright against the darkness with his desire to make that vision a reality once more.

An almost animal-like scream of rage jerked him out of his reverie and in a flurry of startled motion Elrond rolled onto his stomach, wide blue eyes darting back and fourth. He listened for a moment and when the odd cry did not repeat itself Elrond hesitantly crawled up the natural incline that the broken rocky ground created and peered out across the barren land. And he could not believe what he saw.

Gripping the course rock hard enough to cut his hands the horrified elf choked out a series of obscenities that would have made an orc blush.

"This can't be...the blood loss must have been much worse then I thought...I'm hallucinating..."

But if that was the case then, this was an elaborate hallucination; and he doubted very much even his imagination could come up with something like *this*.

Though still a ways off, Moririme was walking towards his hiding place, very much alive.

TBC...