A thick black shaft sailed through the air, and then pierced Rhrawthir through the upper arm, jolting him painfully back to reality and throwing him to the ground. He was quickly on his feet and with a harsh grunt, he pulled out the arrow and smelled it, before throwing it to the ground and drawing his sword. Another arrow landed in the mud at Lindo's feet and he danced to the side lest the archer sight him again.
Ram en Ondo shoved the pommel of his sword into an orc's face and then side-stepped and beheaded another, while Melven worked his sword at his side, slashing and stabbing
Strangled shouting suddenly rang in their ears, it was Legolas' unmistakable voice. Something had happened, as they had known it would, for it had surely been inevitable ….
"No!" shouted Legolas as he struggled to push back the waves of goblins, while shouting, "stay down!" stay down, Dima!" "Dima?" he shouted, for he needed a response - but there was none. "Dima!" he tried again, but nothing.
It was all he could do to stop the enemy from overrunning them and so with a mighty cry of anger and frustration, fuelled now by despair, he hefted his spear aloft and began to move it around him, gaining some space so that he could, at least, look back and see what had happened.
He could not lose focus - he knew Handir had been hit but he had not been prepared for the sight that greeting him, for his brother lay still beneath the body of Dimaethor, who did not move, a hideous black arrow straight through his side.
"No!" he roared, before turning back to the fight and swiping two orcs to one side and then turning back. Handir's eyes were closed but he still drew breath, and so did Dima, but it was clear they had both been gravely wounded, that the Avari had thrown himself atop his prince in what may prove to have been a futile attempt to save his life.
Anger welled from the depths of his soul, so great it surged through his body and took over every conscious thought. With a bone-chilling scream, he wielded his spear faster than the orcs could follow, his movements precise and yet powerful, every blow a death stroke and the more he killed the less emotion he showed.
There was suddenly time to move, to do something other than cut down the wall of orcs that had assailed him.
He prayed that the horses would come closer, but they would not, for they pranced and neighed in panic further towards the tree line, surely on the brink of bolting. Yet to his utter shock, one steed broke away from the rest and galloped towards him.
He could not think on how that could be - he simply used the distraction to finish off those closest to him and then carefully, reverently, moved Dimaethor's body to one side. He had no time, no time to help him, to staunch the bleeding for if he did, he would lose the prince, and so with a strangled curse he turned his eyes to his brother, and finally saw the arrow that had pierced his chest. Pulling his brother up by the front of his bloodied tunic, he struggling desperately to get a firm hold on the lax body, he looked around frantically, desperately thinking of a way to get himself and his brother upon the horse, a grey mare that now looked at him as its nostrils flared, the same brown eyes that had witnessed Legolas' transformation now stared back at him.
If only it would kneel for him…
He could have cried when the animal folded its front legs, and then its back. It was all Legolas needed and he dragged Handir with him until he sat firmly in the saddle, his brother's limp body sagging against him. Wiping a trail of blood from his eye, he turned to where The Company were making their stand.
"Commander! …."
"Go! Get him out Legolas," shouted Glorfindel as he lunged forward and killed another.
"Dimaethor!" shouted Legolas in despair.
"I know! Go, Legolas, ride like the winds of November!" shouted Glorfindel and then turned to parry a vicious scimitar blow.
With one last anxious look at Dimaethor bleeding upon the ground, he kicked his mount, feeling the steed's muscles bunch below him, and as it began to gallop, piercing agony shot through his body as a thick bolt slammed into his shoulder, grating against his collar bone and wrenching a strangled scream from him.
The Silvan reached for the shaft and pulled it out with another shriek of pain, for he now knew they were laced with poison…
Trees rushed by but his eyes focussed on what was before him for he could not afford his steed to stumble and unbalance him, would not think of the fate of The Company, of Dimaethor left to bleed to death under the trees.
With one hand he held the reins and with the other he held his brother close to his chest. His shoulder screamed at him in pain as the broken bone was jarred, grating against the raw flesh of the hole the arrow had left. He would not think of it and so he concentrated his mind on his brother, on the path before him - nothing else could matter now - nothing at all.
Glorfindel gasped as a blade narrowly missed his neck, before twisting to the side and beheading the orc that had nearly slit his throat. A cry of pain to his left told him another of the Company had taken an injury. This had to end and soon, or they would all be run down. He had not missed how Dimaethor had covered the prince as more arrows had converged upon them, had not missed Legolas' rage and fury, and then as he himself had been hit just as he had succeeded in getting the prince away.
Melven turned to the commander, his face for once reflecting the emotion behind his eyes, his jet black hair in disarray around him, grey eyes alight with the rush of the battle.
"Let me go after him, he will need someone to open the way, speak to the border guard - I can get to the horse and follow him!" he said urgently.
Glorfindel saw the light in those Noldorin eyes, saw the determination. He was the only warrior currently not engaged, the one closest to the horses.
"Go Melven. Do not disappoint me - see them safely home…" he did not shout, and yet his voice was as powerful as that of any war general.
Melven saluted his commander and sprinted towards the horses, strapping his weapons to his back as he ran. Vaulting onto the nearest horse, he charged away into the trees until the sickening noises of battle faded, and only the heavy thud of his own heart remained.
Glorfindel had said they were one day from the border. That had been half a day ago and at the frantic pace he had set, Legolas calculated he would be a few hours away from the first border guards.
He would not stop, and should his horse falter, he would continue on foot, or confiscate a guard's horse. They were expendable, he himself was expendable, but Handir was not. He was a Prince, the King's son - nothing was more important. A nagging voice in the back of his mind added that Handir was his brother, a brother he had come to love, and as Yavanna was his witness he would deliver him - to whatever end.
And while Legolas concentrated his efforts on keeping his brother atop the mount and dominating the pain of his broken collar bone, Melven thundered desperately through the woods, half his body bent over his horse's head, arms pumping furiously as he worked the beast to its full speed.
Hang on, Legolas, I am coming…
With a mighty groan of effort, Mithrandir turned and flung a small dagger straight at Rhrawthir, at least that is what Lindo thought, until he spotted the goblin behind the injured warrior, the blade catching it squarely between the eyes and shrieking.
It had been the last of the enemy and now, the Company, Mithrandir and Glorfindel stood hunched over, heaving for breath and grimacing in pain and exertion. It had been close, too close, but now was not the time to think on it, or to ponder the strange behaviour of the horses.
"Elladan go, take Lindohtar."
Elladan knew exactly what to do and in an instant he was sprinting towards where Dimaethor lay, Lindo hot on his heels.
Kneeling beside the fallen Avari, Elladan appraised him with his keen eyes, even as his fingers worked to unclasp the many fastenings that stood in his way to the wound in the lieutenant's side, the arrow still firmly embedded.
Lindohtar stood guard over him, weapons drawn and eyes moving everywhere lest there be stragglers amongst the bushes.
Behind him, Lindo could hear wood being cut, and from personal experience he knew what would follow, yet this time there would be no accompanying cry of pain, for Dimaethor was insensate and Elladan used that to his advantage. With one sure movement, the wooden shaft was pushed through until it was out and blood flowed freely, worrying in its abundance and color.
Linda turned his eyes back to Glorfindel, watching from afar as he organised the warriors, at the same time listening to the attention Elladan gave to his fallen brother behind, and soon enough, the warriors were together once more.
"Elladan," called Glorfindel urgently. "Report," he commanded.
"It is grave, Glorfindel. We must find the border patrol and ride him in, this poison will end up paralysing even his involuntary reflexes…." he said, turning his head for a moment to meet the commander's eyes.
Ram en Ondo cursed as the others closed their eyes and clenched their jaws in anxiety.
"Fashion a stretcher, we move now - Idhrenohtar, scout ahead, find the border guard," he said pointedly.
"Aye Sir!" said the Wise Warrior with a salute, before sprinting away and then pulling himself aloft the trees.
Once Dimaethor had been placed upon the stretcher they had crafted, they began to walk behind their striding commander. Damn it all, cursed Ram en Ondo - it would take them days to reach the fortress on foot. His eyes wandered to Rhawthir, who was already looking at him, the same thoughts whirling in his head, the same, naked fear for Dimaethor and the prince, and for Legolas, who Glorfindel said had been injured.
"They will make it, Ram en, have faith…" murmured Rhawthir, cradling his wounded arm close to his chest.
"Dima is strong, I do have faith, but Legolas will be injured and alone, in the fortress of The Greenwood, at the mercy of those that will surely recognise him…"
There was a silence then, born of sudden realisation that he was right. It was not only about making it back, it was about what would happen when he did, with no one to shield him, no one to protect him from those that would see him gone, save for a Noldo who they still did not know if they could trust.
"Did you see him fight, brother?" asked Lindohtar from behind. "Did you see Hwindo fight with his spears?" asked the Bard Warrior in awe.
"I did," said Ram en Ondo with a soft smile, "we all did…"
With a little luck, Idhreno would find the border guard and get Dimaethor to the fortress. As for the rest of them, it would take them two days to walk back. All Legolas had to do was wait for them - two days.. that's all it would take.
'Ride, Legolas, like the winds of November…'
He could not tell how many hours had passed, but the light had gone and his muscles ached and his shoulder had become numb, a small mercy.
His brother remained completely still, the softest ghost of breath dusting over Legolas' forearm as it held his brother in place. There was poison at work, but he had not dared to remove the arrow, for to do that may mean the prince would bleed to death, yet leaving it lodged in his body meant it would be more difficult, with each passing hour, for him to recover from its toxicity. He could not stop, for to do so would mean certain death.
He tightened his arm around the lax body, securing his brother to himself, as if by doing so he could assure himself that nothing could happen to him, that Legolas' only connection with his real family would not fade away and leave him alone again, thrust him back into that strange void in which he had lived his entire life, and from which only now, was slowly emerging and opening his eyes to a reality that had been hidden from him.
A sudden thought came to him and in his addled state, it took a while for him to realise what it was. He was being followed, the trees told him it was so, but there was no danger. It was one of The Company. Yet Legolas still remembered the treachery of the trees in the glade where they had been assailed and wondered if he could trust them.
But the answer was already in his head. Yes, he could trust them, but the question remained, a question Legolas would need to address later - what had happened? Why had he not been told of the danger that lay before them?
It seemed mere minutes before the sun was once again rising and the land regained its colours. The distant gallop of hooves told him the warrior behind him was gaining ground. His body was half numb now, but he would not think of that - could not and he bolstered his concentration, gathered every bit of strength he still had inside him to block the pain, the exhaustion, the image of Dimaethor lying in a pool of blood.
Ride like the wind, Legolas, and do not stop until your brother is delivered…
Glorfindel strode through the forest with Elladan and Mithrandir at his side. Rhawthir too was there for he was the most veteran of the Silvans, he was the best elf to guide them home. He walked with one hand tucked inside his belt to take some of the strain off his wound, the rest of The Company following in grim silence.
They had walked on through the night, and if Idhrenohtar had anything to do with it, they would continue on through the day - but Glorfindel had other plans as he turned to stop them.
"We will rest for fifteen minutes. Eat and drink, tend your wounds," he said curtly.
They sat and broke out their meagre supplies, chewing on broken way bread and squashed meat jerky. Elladan chewed on his own food as he moved to Rhrawthir and peeled away the bloodied bandage. Wetting a cloth with an antiseptic solution he carried in a canteen, he pressed it to the wound, eliciting a hiss of pain from the warrior.
"Keep it there for a while, Rhrawthir," he said, and then added, "are you fevered? nauseous?"
"No, yet I do not feel right, Rafno. The poison is a basic one I think - unpleasant but designed only to hamper, not kill."
"You know it then?" asked the healer as he worked.
"Yes, I believe I do," said Rhrawthir, and then grunted as Elladan tied the knot in the fresh bandage.
"Show me then, when we have time," said Elladan as he patted the warrior's shoulder and moved on.
Moving on to Ram en Ondo, he smeared a soothing cream over the nasty bruise on his face, and then wiped his fingers on a cloth, turning once more to see to Idhrenohtar.
"Elladan, take your rest," ordered Glorfindel, stopping any further attention Elrond's son would give; he needed his lieutenant.
"Are you all well?" asked Glorfindel from where he sat. All answered 'aye' and that was enough for the stern Commander, who signalled for them to continue their journey, and as they worked up their pace once more, Elladan looked down upon the pale face of Dimaethor. Rhrawthir had said he recognised the poison, had said it was a basic one, not a life-threatening one and that was just as well, but his worry did not fade; Elladan knew that arrow had been inside him for far too long.
Glorfindel watched Elladan, and then turned his mind inward, and to Legolas, to the way he had fought, how he had reached Handir, how the horses had aided him. He was proud of his adopted son, and sent a silent plea to the Valar. 'Protect him', he murmured to himself. 'Guide his path and do not claim Handir for your own…' He remembered then, who it was that followed - Melven. His stomach flipped for the Noldorin warrior was yet to prove himself in the commander's eyes; it had not been his choice to send him after Legolas, but it had been his only resource at the time. It was a make or break situation for him now. He would either become a member of the Company, or they would send him to the very pits of Mordor.
"Hwindo! Hwindo! came the frantic shouts from behind. Legolas' mind sharpened once more - Melven, it was Melven who followed him, and a wave of overwhelming relief crashed over him.
Before long, the Noldorin warrior was galloping beside him, watching him closely as their horses cantered on. His grey eyes saw the wound on Legolas' collar bone, blood covering his front. His face was bruised and bloodied, but he seemed alert enough as he continued to set a furious pace.
"Let me take him!" shouted Melven.
"No! The borders are ahead, we may reach the fortress before nightfall," he shouted back.
Melven wante
d to protest, but there was something in the Silvan's eyes that stopped him; something fierce and forbidding, something wildly protective and Melven, intelligent that he was, shut his mouth and kept a close eye on the road ahead.
"I will ride forward and meet the border guard, warn them so that they let you pass.."
"Good! Yes! Go, Melven. Prepare the way for me…" he shouted back and for the first time, Melven could hear the pain, the exhaustion and the effort it was taking the Silvan to keep himself and his brother aloft.
With a nod that was as much compliance as it was respect, he galloped forward in a rush of black hair and grey, billowing cloak, until he was but a speck on Legolas' horizon.
Some time later, Melven was closer than he had been and Legolas assumed he must have stopped to speak to the border guard. Sure enough off to one side stood two Silvan guards watching him as he thundered by, saluting him as he passed, for he carried their prince.
No sooner had Legolas passed and the guards swung into the trees, passing the news on to the rest of the patrol; Prince Handir was gravely injured, they whispered, but little did they know who it was that brought him home…
"Open the gates! Open the gates!" screamed Melven from a distance as he galloped over the last few lengths before the mighty walls of the fortress, his voice carrying powerfully.
"Open them! Healers, to Prince Handir!" he screamed again.
The gates grated and screeched and soon enough, the massive stone and wood panels began to open inwards, just in time for him to thunder through and bring his horse to a halt in a cloud of dust.
"Prince Handir!" he gasped as he doubled over on his horse, vaguely aware that elves in green robes were running towards him.
"Prince Handir is gravely wounded, he rides behind me…" he managed to enunciate in spite of his heaving chest.
"Who are you?" came the authoritative voice of the Gate guard.
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