Ethuil, Plains of Rohan, 2818 T.A.
Gildor laughed as Erestor glared at him, “Well, it is not my fault that Naurion thought you should cross the stream without him!”
“I think it had less to do with the stream than with that mare Naurion spied! Show off!” Erestor laughed as he patted Naurion’s haunches. “Well, at least it is a beautiful spring day. I should dry quickly.”
Gildor smiled, “Aye, your hair is already almost dry. I am glad we are finally heading home. I, for a change, will be so glad to have a real bath and to sleep in a bed again. This trip has taken far longer than I had hoped.”
“Well, at least it has been quite fruitful,” Erestor said as he patted the pocket inside his tunic.
Gildor looked over at his friend and smiled slightly, enjoying the relaxed and open manner that Erestor had now. It is so good to see you more like your old self. I truly missed you, mellon nín. How I wish that you were this way at home. I hate to see you so cold and aloof. It hurts those that care about you more than you know.
The companions rode on in comfortable silence for awhile until Erestor stiffened, “I smell…smoke…there, in the distance.”
Gildor sat up in his saddle and narrowed his eyes, “A small village lies that way. Mayhap they are burning their fields?”
“It is too late in the season to be burning fields and too early in the day for a bonfire. There may be trouble.” Erestor frowned.
Without another word, they both spurred their mounts forward. Even though they were in a remote area of Rohan, the two elves still felt a strong compulsion to defend innocents if they had it in their power to do so.
As they neared the village, the sounds of fighting could be heard. Gildor drew his sword while Erestor nocked his bow. When they came upon the outermost huts, most were completely in flames, with many already burned out. Bodies were strewn everywhere, but there were still a few villagers trying to put out the flames. From the bodies they passed, it seems that a band of Dunlendings had attacked this village intent on pillaging and plundering, but the villagers had a different idea.
The sound of skirmishes still echoed in the air, so the Elves continued toward the fighting instead of lingering with the survivors. When they arrived at the center of the town, there were still quite a few able bodied villagers fighting with grim determination. Erestor quickly shot two of the Wild Men that were running after a woman carrying an infant. Gildor immediately rode into the center of the fray and began to fight with a vengeance. Between the elves and the villagers, the attackers were quickly dispatched. Once the sounds of battled stopped, they heard screams from farther away. It seems that not all of the attackers were disposed of and some houses on the outskirts were also under attack.
Gildor spurred his mount onward with Erestor following. They came to a small cluster of homes where they could hear muffled shouts and curses coming from an alleyway between two of the houses. Gildor swung off his mount and ran ahead into the fray, with Erestor following close behind. They came upon two boys using only pitchforks for weapons who were fending off four large Wild Men. Gildor attacked one with his sword while Erestor set upon another. Soon all four were down. As Erestor lowered his sword, Gildor screamed and lunged by him, only to be struck by the axe blow that had been intended for Erestor. Erestor immediately reacted and the last Wild Man was dead, but Gildor had taken a savage blow to his side and was bleeding profusely.
Erestor ripped up strips of cloth from his under tunic and bound Gildor’s side but the bleeding would not stop. Gildor was still conscious, but just barely. Erestor looked at the two boys who were swaying on their feet from fear and fatigue and asked, “Is there a healer nearby?” The boys didn’t understand Westron, so Erestor repeated his query in Rohirric. The tallest boy replied, “I hear that there’s one on the northern outskirts of the village of Lifman. They say she’s the best healer in Rohan.”
“Is there no one closer?” Erestor asked.
The boy shook his head and responded in a barely audible whisper, “Not anymore. My Gran was our healer and these Wild Men got to her. Besides, no one around here knows anything about healing your kind, but that one may.”
“Do you know how to get to her place?”
“No, sir, I’ve never been that far from home.” The boy looked to be close to collapse, so Erestor quickly asked for one more favor. “Could you please help me? I can mount up, but I need help to get my friend mounted with me. Can you two manage that?”
“Yes, sir, I think we can do that.”
Erestor tilted his head in salute, “Thank you. I am sorry that I cannot stay longer and provide you further aid. Best of luck to you.”
Erestor whistled for Naurion who came trotting up along with Húron. After grabbing a flask from his saddle bags Erestor put his arm around Gildor’s shoulder, “Meldir, try drinking. This will strengthen you for the journey.” He gave Gildor two swigs of Miruvor. Once he took a swig himself, he put away the bottle. Erestor then swung up into the saddle and reached for his friend who was swaying dangerously between the two boys. Between the three of them they did get Gildor up into Erestor’s arms, but all of the jostling caused the bindings to loosen and Gildor was again bleeding profusely.
Erestor tightened the bindings as he looked down at Gildor’s pale face, “Can you hold on a little longer, meldir? I need you to help us get to this healer the boy talked about. You know this area far better than I.”
Gildor struggled to respond through the pain, but he did manage to wheeze, “I will... stay... not losing me yet.” He took a shuddering breath, knowing he had to direct Erestor now for he would probably not be conscious later, and continued, “Northeast... at the fork in the road, just past a small stream and a copse of trees, turn due north... about an hour past that. You will find it.”
With that, Erestor urged Naurion to set out at a brisk pace. “Forgive the rough ride, but I must make haste.” He knew that his mount could make good time even riding double and he also knew that he did not have a moment to spare as Gildor was struggling to stay conscious. Húron was following, and Erestor wondered if he would be able to change mounts halfway through the journey if Naurion needed a rest. He thought it would be worth the chance if they were unable to make good enough time.
Erestor looked down at Gildor’s face and began to pray for his friend. He and Gildor had been close friends for such a long time that Erestor couldn’t imagine doing without Gildor’s humor and support. Erestor’s thoughts drifted back to when he first met Gildor...
He had been just a youngling, still trying to accustom himself to the changes in his life after his parents died during the fall of Eregion. He fled with the refugees and found his way to the nascent haven of Imladris. He was just a face in the crowd of so many refugees. Erestor was strong and his father had taught him to continue fighting because he had always believed that giving up was the truth death.
Erestor liked the sheltered valley so he began to work in earnest, hoping he could stay there. He had hopes that his efforts would be rewarded with a position from the lord of the valley, Elrond. He helped with the other refugees the best that he could, giving comfort and counsel where possible. He was eager to help and never shunned any task. He would set up tents, carry water, cook, entertain elflings, whatever needed to be done. Erestor kept himself busy, often to the point of exhaustion, so that he did not dwell on his losses. His work and struggle did get noticed.
Gildor, the Captain of the Imladris guard and one of Lord Elrond’s closest friends, saw the pain in the young one’s eyes. He watched him work far harder and longer than many of the adult elves. Gildor decided that this youngling needed a friend. He also thought Erestor might make a good candidate for a new, elite group created by the High King, the Shadow Stalkers. Gildor, as head of this corps, was trying to fill his ranks and was always on the watch for qualified ellon. Erestor had potential as he was intelligent and hard working without being boisterous, a trait that did not combine well with secret intelligence gathering.
Gildor tossed some wine, cheese, bread, and fruit in a basket, and grabbed a blanket. He was determined to talk to the dark haired young elf and force him to rest a bit at the same time. When Gildor strode up, Erestor was having difficulty convincing a draft horse to help pull a large granite block into place. Both beings were obviously hot, tired, and frustrated. Gildor smiled, “So, young one, why not give your friend a break from this hot, dusty work and then you can take a break as well?”
Erestor looked up into the smiling face of a tall, blonde haired elf with friendly grey eyes and realized just how tired he truly was. “That sounds wonderful... uh... my Lord.”
“Captain Gildor Inglorion, but please, just call me Gildor. And you are?”
“Erestor Sarnonion,” he said shyly, “but just Erestor is fine.”
During the picnic, Gildor decided that this young one had great potential and he informed Elrond of it. Together the lord and his captain decided that Gildor would mentor Erestor and help him find his place in Imladris. Over the course of the next few months, Gildor secretly guided Erestor’s activities using each one as a test of his strengths and weaknesses. Erestor was obviously brilliant, with a cunning and quick mind. He seemed to have an affinity for strategy and logic games, thoroughly enjoying the time spent playing chess with Gildor.
Erestor also had a knack for the smaller weapons, especially daggers and knives, but his real talent came out when barehanded. It was almost as if he could sense his opponent’s moves before they did themselves, so he would often best older and stronger elves. Gildor also noticed that Erestor seemed to intuitively understand the mechanical world, so he become invaluable in creating Imladris’ vast maze of pipes, tunnels, and cisterns for hot and cold water as well as waste removal. The only chink in Erestor’s armor appeared to be his lack of confidence in himself and his shyness. He was quite reserved in groups, tending to stay in the background, but he could be drawn out in one to one discussions. After the assessment period, Elrond and Gildor agreed that he should continue to mentor the youngling as he would be a major asset with Gildor’s Shadow Stalkers when he came of age.
Gildor moaned and Erestor was pulled from his reverie. He looked at the sky and tried to determine how much farther they had to go. He then reached into his saddle bag and brought the flask of miruvor to Gildor’s lips. “Drink, please. You have to hang on, meldir.” Gildor took a small sip and fluttered his eyes, “Where...?” He managed to get out.
“I am uncertain, but there is a copse of trees up ahead and what may be a small stream. We will not dismount, but we must stop long enough to let Naurion rest. Hopefully, it is not too much farther. Hold on, mellon nín. You shall not leave me this easily.” With Naurion stopped, Erestor could ease his grip on Gildor and check his bandages. They were soaked with blood and he knew his friend would not survive if he did not have help soon. Erestor stretched his tired arms and prayed that it was not much longer.
TBC
Translations:
Ethuil – late spring
mellon nín – my friend
meldir – my friend (male)
ellon – male elf
Story Notes:
The characters and world belong to the Master himself, Tolkien. I am only borrowing them so they can come out and frolic a bit, not intending any copyright infringement of any sort. I do own my original characters, but they are available for parties!
1: The central theme of this story was inspired by the song, “The Reason” by Hoobastank. And, in all honesty, another character’s POV is represented by another song, “My Immortal” by Evanescence.
2: I’d also like to thank DarkDreamer for allowing me use of the title Shadow Stalker for a “career” choice for some of my Elves.
Author's Chapter Notes:
It took her to make them realize the error of their ways.