“Master,” a concerned voice called from somewhere nearby.

“Yes, what is it,” someone calmly replied.

“Master, I have tended the lord’s injuries and they begin to heal. He sleeps now. But, Master, I question the source of the injuries the lord has received.”

“You do?” Came the dubious reply. “And why would you do such a thing? Is it not obvious that he fell from a tree?”

There was a long pause before the first voice responded. “Master, the injuries to the lord’s arm and leg look to me as if they were caused by arrows. I have bound the wounds of many a warrior and the lord’s wounds are consistent with those inflicted by arrows.”

An exasperated sigh escaped the “master” before his long suffering reply. “I heard, from the leader of the patrol himself, an account of the terrible accident which caused our patients’ injuries. Does not impalement upon a stick also create a puncture wound? Are not arrows in effect shaved sticks? Are not the other injuries consistent with those which one would receive falling from a tree in a forest?” The Master’s voice grew stern. “I caution you, young one, to consider your opinions most carefully when they conflict with the testimony of those held in high esteem by the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood.”

“Yes, Master,” came the penitent reply.

“Now tend your patient and notify me when he awakens.”

“Yes, Master.”

Lord Glorfindel actually was already awake though he wished he were not. Carefully, he kept his body relaxed and his eyes safely closed so as not to disturb the “young one” tending him. He did not particularly want to answer any questions just now about the “terrible accident” as the master healer had called it – he did not ever want to answer them really. His head ached horribly, and, judging from the pain in the extensions of agony he called an arm and a leg, he would neither draw a bow nor run again.  Not that he would mind such a fate at this point. He was not certain that he wanted to hunt again after this experience.

But how did this so-called “patrol leader” arrive at the absurd conclusion that he had fallen out of a tree? 

Oh, he remembered a tree all right. But falling from it was about the only thing that did not happen. What he did recall was...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Glorfindel the balrog slayer struggled fiercely as four of the wild men stripped him of his weapons and bound his hands behind his back. His right bicep and left thigh ached fiercely where the arrows had been ripped from him. Blood dampened his leggings and his sleeve as he continued to fight to the best of his limited ability.

His captor roughly dragged him to his feet, but his leg collapsed, unable to bear his weight. Gasping, he came down hard on his right knee, smacking it neatly on a rock. The wild man to his left growled, kicked him in his wounded leg, then hit him soundly over the head with something very hard.

XXXXX

The sun was blinding when Glorfindel regained consciousness. Instinctively, he tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, but his hand would not obey him. Momentarily confused, he turned his head to see what was wrong and was met with a gaping hole in his blood-soaked sleeve. His memories returned along with an explosion of pain in his arm, leg, and head. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to get the agony under control enough to try moving again. Carefully he lifted his left hand to reach over and examine the wound, only to find himself bound with manacle and chain. Suddenly alarmed, he sat bolt upright and found his legs were similarly bound. A wave of nausea swept over him accompanied by more pain.

“Calm yourself, my friend,” a weary voice softly commanded.

Once the nausea subsided, Glorfindel slowly turned in the direction of the voice and met Celeborn’s keen blue gaze.

Celeborn sat propped up beside him to his right, his shackled hands pressed to his left side where blood heavily stained the lower portion of his grey tunic.

Horror struck, the Noldo gasped, “My lord! Wh…”

“Glorfindel! Be at peace. We are all here – wherever here is. The others are injured and chained to this tree as well. Fortunately, none of our injuries appear to be vital, but…” Celeborn winced, hissing sharply as he carefully shifted his position. “But, I do not think any of us will be trying to go anywhere any time soon.”

Turning to his other side, Glorfindel saw Elrond secured next to him. The familiar handsome face was deathly pale beneath the tangled raven hair which hung forward, obscuring his bright grey eyes. The large crimson patch on his shoulder and chest seemed to be drying at least. Shame and anger filled the golden lord as he turned away, hanging his head in disgrace.

He had failed them.

How had this happened? How had he allowed this to happen?

His group had been aware of their surroundings as all good hunters were. There had been no indication of anyone having traversed the area they were in, orc, mortal, or otherwise – at least not that Glorfindel had seen. And these were mere mortals who had accosted them; wild men at that - probably Dunlanders by their look and manner of speech. How had he missed all sign of them?

How had this all come to pass?

Guilt and anger consumed him, gnawing at his heart.

As sworn protector of these last scions of Finwë’s line in Middle-earth, Glorfindel had insisted on accompanying Elrond and the twins, and the lord Celeborn for added safety -- but he had failed them. Now they were all wounded, awaiting Eru knew what! How had he allowed this to happen?

“Glorfindel,” Elrond called in an unnaturally gruff voice.  

He did not answer.

“Glorfindel, look at me.”

Elrond reached out and gripped Glorfindel’s chin, slowly lifting it until their eyes met.

“I know what you are thinking, my friend. But you are not solely to blame. We all failed to see the signs, if there were even any around us to be seen. We are all guilty of ignorance and folly in this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” Glorfindel reluctantly replied. “I understand. But I was supposed to be aware. I was supposed to protect you.”

There was a long silence suddenly broken by an indignant growl from Elrond.

"Meaning that even after all this time you still think me incapable of protecting myself?"

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered without thinking clearly. “No! I mean…”

Elrond's eyes betrayed his attempt to lighten the desperate situation. “Be silent! Just be silent and figure out how to get us out of here.”

Glorfindel allowed himself a brief smile as he turned away. Leaning back against the tree, he took note of the multitude of thatched huts arranged around them many paces away and the crowd assembling to gawk at the elves. This was a sizable Dunlander settlement by the looks of it. Escape would not be easy.

He sighed heavily. By the Valar, his head ached!

Gently he probed the knot raised on the side of his head where the wild man had struck him.

“It only bled a little bit,” Celeborn weakly reassured him as Glorfindel drew his hand away looking for blood.

“Still hurts though,” Glorfindel scowled.

“Daeradar,” one of the twins called from somewhere beyond Glorfindel’s line of sight. “What do they want with us?”

Celeborn gestured forward with a hand coated in drying blood. “I think we are about to find out.”

A large hairy man approached, flanked by several equally scraggly men all garbed in the hides of wolf and bear. Some of the men brandished knives while others carried branches covered with wicked-looking thorns

Glorfindel sat up as straight he could in his compromised state, leaning against the tree as the large man halted a short ways in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Celeborn do the same.

Speaking haughtily in the common tongue, the man shook a long ash staff at them as he declared, “You trespass upon our lands. You hunt that which is sacred to us. You have murdered that which should never be touched by dart or spear – the very king of the blessed herd. For this, you will suffer.”  

“We are elves. We hunt for food, not sport. We use all parts of that which we kill,” Celeborn explained, his voice diplomatically humble and penitent. “We did not know the deer were sacred to you. We ask your pardon and your forgiveness.”

The man studied them for a moment before answering. “We know you are elves of the Cursed Wood. You love trees, yet you scorn that which lives beneath them! Lack of wit does not excuse this sin. We saw your arrow in the royal stag.” The man paused a moment nodding in judgment as he continued “For this, you will pay. You will pay.”

The leader then gestured with his staff and those around him strode forward.

“Wait! Please! Allow us to…” But Celeborn’s voice was cut off mid-sentence by a blow to his head from one of the men who suddenly swarmed around them.

Glorfindel struggled viciously as a group of men surrounded him, completely blocking his view. Some pinned him down while his tunic, shirt, and cloak were cut from him with a knife. One at a time, the armed men came forward and began whipping him with thorny branches.

Perhaps the attack lasted for a few minutes or was it a few hours? Time ceased to matter as each swipe of a branch snagged and tore tender flesh. Glorfindel bit his lip until blood dribbled down his chin, refusing to give his accusers the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He did not hear cries from any of the others either, though he heard them suffering the same fate which rained down upon him. So long as they remained silent, he knew he could, too. Closing his eyes against the assault, he clung to that thought until the beating stopped. 

XXXXX

Rain fell later that day and during the night, washing their wounds clean and quenching their thirst for they were given neither food nor water.  The next day, they were left in the sun, still chained to the tree, but their lashings had healed over to the point of looking like scratches. That night the twins were dragged away to one of the huts for many hours, but neither would speak of it when they finally returned.

The second day after the rain, the men came again, only this time the thorny branches were accompanied by six-point half racks of deer antlers and large sticks.

None of them remained silent for long through that assault.