Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty Seven

The Better Part of Valor

“True valor lies between cowardice and rashness.” Miquel de Cervantes

By the time the four hunters reached the border area where the twins were overcome, the golden orb of Anor was rising over the steep mountain ranges surrounding the hidden valley. The cooler air of night was slowly being warmed as the rays gently erased the last traces of the predawn mist.

“This is where it happened,” confirmed Glorfindel, dismounting from Asfaloth. “Elladan was down, and Elrohir was standing over him as they were engulfed by the orcs.”

The other three dismounted and walked over to stand by Glorfindel. The horses began to graze nearby as the warriors examined the area.

An unconscious shudder ran through Elrond’s frame as he contemplated how very close he had come to losing his sons in this place, where the veil of malevolence still seemed to cling to the very air he breathed. During the centuries that he had lived in Imladris, very few times had evil been able to penetrate the valley defenses. Not since the time of siege had orcs roamed within the valley confines unrestricted.

Elrond walked over to where Mithrandir knelt in a particularly lush, fern covered area, gently feeling of the soil with his hand. The Maia’s eyes were closed, as though reaching out with his senses rather than with his vision. The Elf Lord knew better than to speak or interrupt the wizard’s concentration, but he longed to know what it was, if anything, that Mithrandir could discern.

Celeborn, too, waited…silent and tense. Instincts honed through battles too numerous to count were tingling throughout the elf’s frame and he found himself glancing at Glorfindel, where he found affirmation. The golden warrior was standing with his back to the other three, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his shoulders taut with anticipation.

“They are close,” said Mithrandir, as though from a trance. “I can feel the wizardry surrounding them.”

“Wizardry from where, Mithrandir…can you tell from where?”

The Maia closed his eyes harder, concentrating with all his might. “I cannot detect a particular Maia’s power,” he said at last, panting slightly from the mental exertion.

“Then we must engage the enemy and take one alive, if at all possible,” said Elrond, drawing Hadafang. Every line of his face spoke of fierce determination. “Come!” he called to the surrounding forest. “Come, if you will! You wanted my children; now come and taste their father’s sword! Face me!”

The sensation of malicious danger hung heavily in the air. So electric was the atmosphere that the Maia would swear that he could almost see it shimmering just beyond the bounds of their sight. “Careful,” he cautioned, “for these beings are not just orcs.”

“What do you mean?” asked Celeborn, moving to stand where he could protect both Mithrandir and Elrond as they concentrated on seeking clues from beyond the physical realm.

“They carry a protection,” said the Maia, “but from where I cannot ascertain.”

“Why do they not attack,” asked Glorfindel, “for I can feel their hatred.”

“That is just one more piece to this puzzle,” answered Celeborn. “Orcs being aided by a Maia,” he shook his head; “how can this be?”

Before anyone could respond, they attacked.

O-o-O-o-O

Mirkwood – The Healing Rooms

“You will not take that tone of voice with me!” admonished Thranduil. By all the Valar, had every elf in his kingdom fallen into an appalling lack of discipline?

Thedin immediately bowed his head, though his countenance remained stubborn. Only a century younger than Thranduil, Thedin had apprenticed during the war of the Last Alliance. His skills were perfected in the battlefield tents of healing where his cool head and innate healing abilities had saved many lives. It was Thedin that refused to give up on Nárë, and saved the elf’s life the morning he was brought back from the dead marshes minus his arm and bleeding heavily.

Thedin did not hate Edain so much as he had absolutely no use for them. Like many of his kin, he preferred the Wood-elves stay to themselves. In his mind, the time they had needed the other races the most, they had been let down, with the resulting devastating loss of their king and so many of their warriors. He believed that they were best served by never again putting themselves in a position where they must rely on others. Thedin blamed not only Isildur for the continued evil pouring from Mordor, but also Elrond. The truth be known, many Silvans blamed the Noldo for not taking the ring from Isildur and destroying the wretched thing himself.

“My king,” said Thedin, trying a different track, “surely one of the other healers would be better suited to this mission than I.”

“You question my judgment now?” growled Thranduil.

“No, my liege…”

“Of course you do!” grumbled the king. “Do not push my good humor too far,” he warned, ignoring the look of astonishment that flashed across the healer’s features.

“It will take me days to learn all that I would need to know from the Lake Town healers,” protested Thedin.

“You are my first healer, Thedin, and the one I trust the most.” Thranduil stopped and sighed. “Need I remind you that the son of Elrond saved Prince Legolas’ life?”

Thedin knew then that he was lost.

“How can we do less than that?” asked Thranduil, spreading his hands as though in petition. “Think of it as a debt of honor.”

The healer would try one last argument. “But Sire,” he almost whined, “they are Edain!”

The king’s eyes hardened. “You will leave within the hour.”

Thedin knew that tone of voice. He sank to his knee, his head bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Thranduil allowed Thedin to remain as he was for a few more seconds, just so that the message would be clear. “You have my leave to rise, Thedin.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Now,” continued Thranduil thoughtfully, “you must find out the nutritional requirements for a small adan, and how much he might need to consume at each feeding.” The king paced the room as he considered what else he particularly wanted to know. “Because the child’s arm was broken, you will need to find out how long it must remain immobilized.”

Thedin favored the king with a shocked look. “You failed to mention the child was injured!”

“Did I?” Thranduil affected an innocent expression, “how forgetful of me.”

Thedin’s eyes grew wide as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Edain get illnesses!”

“Your point?” Thranduil asked.

“What if this child gets sick?” murmured the healer. “I have tended war wounds, accidents and spider bits, but never such as that!”

“Why do you think I am sending you to the Edain healers?” Thranduil shook his head disdainfully. “Really, Thedin, sometimes I wonder about you.”

“And I, you, my lord...” the healer mumbled under his breath.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel drew his sword and slashed upwards at a charging orc in one smooth motion. His analytical mind ran through defenses as he allowed his body to slip into the well practiced motions of battle. While he fought, his eyes constantly searched for orc archers; he wanted to be aware of any threat from that quarter. Swords he could fight; incoming arrows were more difficult and would have to be dealt with. He gradually fought his way over to where he could protect Elrond’s back.

Celeborn slashed downward with a feral grin on his face. Not in millennia had he fought orcs, and he relished the chance to fight back with his own hands. Even when Celebrían, his own daughter, had been so cruelly used, he had been unable to do more than watch as his warriors and those of Imladris rode out to clear the mountain pass of the orcs responsible. The Lord of Lórien did not consider himself a vengeful elf, but he would admit that he was finding satisfaction in doling out justice to the ones who had hurt his grandsons. Celeborn quickly ducked as Mithrandir’s staff swept over his head, connecting with the orc attacking from behind him.

“Watch you do not enjoy yourself so much that you become careless, old friend,” chided the Maia. “I would not want to face Galadriel should something happen to you.”

Elrond was wading through orcs as quickly as they came at him. A pair charged him from two different directions. A swing of his sword connected with the first as he sliced downward and turned to decapitate the second. Immediately, more of the foul creatures surged forward. Even while his mind told him he was becoming isolated from the others, his anger and his instincts kept him charging.

Attacking from two sides, the orcs attempted to further isolate Elrond. The Noldo stabbed his sword through one particularly ugly orc. Hadafang was pulled from his grasp as the creature twisted violently in his death throes. Elrond quickly crouched down and unsheathed the golden dagger from its location on his boot, dispatching two more orcs before retrieving his sword.

A particularly large being stepped over two of his own dead to challenge Elrond. “Long have I stalked your home, Elf Lord,” he spat.

Hadafang in a ready position, Elrond stepped easily over four, reeking bodies, never taking his eyes from his prey. “Stalk no more then; I am here.”

With a powerful swing, the orc lunged at Elrond. His size alone would give him an advantage, he believed. The brawny being slashed repeatedly at Elrond as the two maneuvered in their uninterrupted dance of death.

Elrond kept his concentration on his formidable opponent, diligently watching his shoulders for an indication of where his next strike would be. Time after time their swords clashed with a mighty clang as he met each crushing blow.

Celeborn was fighting against three orcs. One thrust to his left and then immediately spun around to catch the Sindar in a blow to his ribcage.

The Lord of Lórien side-stepped enough to keep the blow from being fatal, but not enough to completely divert the sword from wounding him. He automatically placed his hand over the wound, drawing it back only to see it covered in blood.

Glorfindel was desperately fighting his way towards Elrond when he heard the involuntary cry from Celeborn. The Lord of Lórien was wounded! The golden warrior quickly dispatched the orc he was fighting and threw his sword at the orc attempting to finish off Celeborn. The sword embedded itself to the hilt in the orc’s back and he fell forward without ever knowing from where the killing blow came. Celeborn quickly retrieved his own sword that had been knocked from his grasp when he was wounded in the side.

“I have him,” called Mithrandir, stepping beside Celeborn. “See to Elrond.”

Glorfindel grabbed an orc blade and started back towards Elrond. He could see several gashes marring Elrond’s body, and realized that, impossibly, the tide seemed to be turning against them. Mighty warriors they might be, but they were only four against untold numbers. Anger filled him with resolve. He had not returned from Mandos’ Halls to see the son of Eärendil fall to vile creatures!

Elrond was becoming tired of this orc and his mocking eyes. Ducking his head and swirling around to his left in one swift motion, the Lord of Imladris came up and drove his sword through the orc’s stomach. For a sickening moment, they were face to face and Elrond watched in satisfaction as the malicious light died from the being’s black eyes. Panting, he stood back and pulled Hadafang free.

Glorfindel was immediately by his side. “How badly are you wounded?”

“The cuts are not deep,” responded the Elf Lord, as he swung at another foe; “they are only bleeding freely because of my exertion.”

“We must withdraw,” said Glorfindel.

“No!” roared Elrond.

“My lord, we must!”

O-o-O-o-O

“Ada!” Estel sat up, panting hard from his dream. “Ada!” he called again.

Legolas was immediately by the child’s side. “Estel, it is Legolas.”

“Legolas?” Estel repeated.

“Yes, child,” the prince soothed, “you were dreaming.”

“I dreamed the monsters were after my Ada,” the child said quietly.

“Lord Elrond is safe in Imladris, Estel,” assured Legolas. “You know that Glorfindel and all of the warriors will always protect him.”

Estel’s large eyes blinked as he thought about the prince’s words. “Yes,” he nodded thoughtfully, before a huge yawn claimed him.

Settling himself on the bed, Legolas pulled Estel into his arms, nestling the child against him for warmth and security. “My Adar brought you some of the clothes I wore as an elfling. You will dress as a Wood-elf!” He could not help smiling at the thought of what Elladan and Elrohir would have to say about that.

“How does a Wood-elf dress?” asked the confused child.

That question caused the prince to laugh. “I forget how literal you are.”

“What’s lit...?”

“Never mind,” interrupted Legolas. “You will dress in the colors of the forest as we do. It is one of the ways that we are able to disappear into the woods.”

That caught Estel’s attention. “Will you teach me to disappear too?”

“I will,” replied the prince, “but first we must break our fast before your stomach decides to make you grumble.”

Estel giggled at the seriousness of the Legolas’ words. “You are funny, Legolas!”

“Oh I am, am I?” he laughed, tickling Estel’s tummy. “Well let us see how funny this is!”

Estel dissolved into giggles at Legolas’ antics. So caught up were the pair in their play that they did not notice Thranduil enter the room. “What is this?” said the king seriously. “Play before break of fast?”

“King Thran-due!” squealed Estel. “I am going to dress like a Wood-elf and hide in the forest!”

“Not hide, Estel,” said Legolas automatically, “disappear.”

“Oh,” corrected Estel, “disappear!” The boy stopped for a second and looked quizzically at Legolas. “Why disappear instead of hide?” His silver eyes blinked as he thought about the words. “They are the same thing, are they not?”

“Not at all,” explained the king, taking a seat on the side of the bed. “For my elves do not hide from the enemy.”

“Oh!” said Estel, seriously. “Warriors do not hide!”

A loud growl emanated from the child’s middle.

“Too late,” said Legolas, “we must hurry and get your dressed, Estel!”

The giggling boy allowed Legolas to quickly dress him in the soft greens of Mirkwood.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel refused to be intimidated by glare. The pair stood toe to toe as more orcs poured from the forest.

“We must have a prisoner,” Elrond growled.

“A prisoner will do us no good unless we are alive to question it,” responded Glorfindel, deftly blocking a sword thrust aimed at Elrond’s back.

Before Elrond could reply, arrows filled the air.

TBC