My Sword Weeps
by Agape4Rivendell
Chapter 45: In the Arms of Friends
Elrohir watched helplessly as Elladan
was
overcome. They were too far away to help. Though Elrohir had lunged
forward as soon as he saw his brother under attack, Erkenbrand held him
back.
“There are seven men at least, and look,” he pointed to the road,
“at least another seven waiting to help. We are too far away. We cannot
save him.”
The Elf clutched his sword, his heart smoldered with fear and
dread. He saw Elladan hew down one after another of his attackers, but
soon, his brother fell. He clenched his teeth. He could see Elladan
still lived, but in what state?
“Wait, Elrohir. They are leaving. A small guard has been placed on
him. It is now our opportunity to overtake them. Give them another
moment.”
“But they are headed for the cave. Mayhap, that is where Aragorn has
gone. And now he is alone. We cannot wait.”
“If we enter, we will be dead, if they are the traitors you think
they are. Let us go to Elladan’s side, rescue him, and then hear what
he can tell us about the cave.”
Elrohir sheathed his sword, took rope from their mount, and
silently, with Erkenbrand at his side, crept towards the small copse
where Elladan was being held. It took them many long moments to cross
the plain. Elrohir almost grunted in pleasure as he saw two men lying
wounded next to his brother. ‘That it would have been more,’ he growled
to himself. ‘Why did he not return to the camp? We could have taken
them, even fourteen.’
Stealthily, he crept forward as Erkenbrand left him and rounded the
other side; both of them came up behind the two guards at the same
time. Elrohir drew his knife, stepped forward, and held the blade to
the first guard’s throat, his other hand covering the man’s mouth.
Erkenbrand was next to him immediately, holding the other guard in the
same fashion while his dirk lay heavy upon that one’s throat.
“Speak not a word,” the Elf muttered quietly. “Else I will slit your
throat and with nary a backwards glance. Do you understand?”
The other, held by Erkenbrand, also heard the words. Both men
nodded their heads. “Good. I should gut you for what you have done to
my brother, but I will wait, mayhap he will want to do it himself.” He
felt the guard stiffen in terror. Elrohir quickly stuffed the men’s
mouths with their own sashes, then tied their hands and bound them to
each other.
Erkenbrand knelt next to Elladan. The Elf’s eyes were open, but there
was no movement, no flash of recognition. He quickly felt the body,
looking for some wound that explained Elladan’s state.
Elrohir, satisfied that both men were tied well and that the
wounded still were unconscious, turned his attention to his brother. He
knelt and lifted Elladan’s head. “Elladan,” he whispered, running his
hand through his brother’s hair and feeling for some wound, though
Erkenbrand had told him he had found none.
The Rohir watched in sorrow. ‘Maybe the Elf is dead already.’
Though the body, when he had touched it, was not cold, the captain
worried – he did not know if Elves grew cold in death. His lack of
knowledge irked him. He knelt quietly next to Elrohir, but kept his
eyes on their captives.
“Elladan. Stop teasing me. Speak to me,” Elrohir’s voice broke. “Say
you are not hurt.”
There was no sound and Erkenbrand felt tears fall.
The Elf held his brother tighter. “Do not even think to leave me.” The
words came out chopped, bitterness filling them. “I said,” he took a
long shuddering breath, “do not think to leave me.” A movement.
Erkenbrand saw that Elrohir felt it. “Come back to me, brother. I know
you hear me. Steel yourself and come back to me.” Another small
movement. “Elladan!” the Elf said more loudly. “Wake now!”
~*~
“Stay still, Ragnhild. The arrow is not lodged deep. The soldier,
thankfully, had not the skill to draw the bow tight enough to do much
damage. Squeeze my hand, when the pain comes."
Ragnhild nodded; Borondir hovered. She would have smiled if the
pain was not so intense. She exhaled forcefully as she felt his arms
about her. Her cheeks, despite the pain, blushed deeply.
“I know,” he smiled kindly. “The damage feels intense, does it not?”
She nodded.
“Erendis is making a tea that will help the pain. A healer has been
sent for.” He froze as her eyes grew round and she struggled to leave
his arms. “What?”
“She will trust no one but Aerin.”
She heard Targon’s voice and a tear fell. She tried to nod again, but
the pain caused her brow to crease.
Borondir bellowed the apprentice’s name. A young girl ran from the
kitchen. “I do not know you.”
“I am an apprentice in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.”
“Have you treated such a wound?” He showed her Ragnhild’s body,
clutched in his arms.
The young woman started as she saw her mother’s friend before her;
she smiled hearteningly. “More times than I care to remember. Erendis!
Clear a table in the parlour. You,” she motioned to Borondir, “take her
there. Targon, set the kettles to boiling. I must fetch my kit.” Aerin
directed. "It is not so bad, Ragnhild. As I told the captain, I have
treated such wounds before. It is not deep, nor is it near the lungs.
It will hurt, as you know, when I pull it out."
“Nay,” Targon held her arm. “Ragnhild has her own kit in her room. I
will fetch it.” He left her without waiting for a reply.
The innkeeper stepped forward. “The fire is always lit and a pot of
water is always boiling upon it. I will bring the water to the
parlour.”
Borondir nodded, entered the parlour and found a long table, bereft
of any adornment, waiting for him. He laid her gently down, whispering
into her ear as he did. “All will be well. I have you and will let no
other harm you. Trust me.” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears while
hers fell.
Ragnhild watched as Aerin prepared the wound; she was offered more tea,
which she gratefully swallowed. It took the edge off the pain. Aerin
tried to push Borondir away, but he refused to leave. Instead, he moved
to Ragnhild's other side and held her hand.
She would have giggled, wanted desperately to giggle, but the pain was
never ending. The man’s compassion and... dare she think, love, in his
eyes caused her to stifle her mirth. 'Yet,' she wondered, 'how can I be
happy when the pain is so intense?' His eyes told her the how and the
why of it. 'Will not Indis be surprised!'
Aerin began immediately. Ragnhild was heartened; this girl knew her
craft. She bit down on the leather pad they had placed between her lips
as the arrow was withdrawn. Her eyes closed; she swooned with the pain.
“She will be fine. It has touched no vital part of her. There has
been little loss of blood. Let her rest now,” she said to Borondir.
“She will stay here for a little while, then we may move her.”
Borondir nodded curtly, then after whispering words of command to
Arantar, he left, his face wild with grief.
