Chapter 6:  found

Thelan looked up, alert. A quick glance at the stiff posture of his brother told him that he had indeed heard something. Their watch was nearly over but it was still too early for the relief.

However something was approaching the border of Imladris. There was no orc activity in the near surroundings of the valley and no sightings of the enemy of late, so the daily routine had been uneventful for some time.

He readied his bow and moved into a position where he could take full advantage of his aim while his brother dropped to the ground. With no guests expected the two border guards waited for what was coming through the thick underbrush. The serene attitude of the trees did not indicate something evil coming their way.

They did not have to wait long. Thelan narrowed his eyes and aimed his bow at the horse now came into sight. He lowered his weapon slightly however when he could not make out a rider.

When Calan stepped forward to intercept the beast Thelan could see that there was indeed a rider hanging low over the neck of the beautiful white stallion. Instantly he raised his bow again, ready to defend his brother.

Sensing that the elf blocking his path meant no harm the horse stopped, yet it danced nervously and twitched his ears. Calan held out his hand and let the stallion sniff his fingers. His wary eyes never left the unconscious body barely clinging to the side of the mount.

“What is it?” Thelan asked softly, the anxiousness getting the better of him. Calan held up his hand to silence his younger brother. He was careful not to make an agitated move lest the horse would bolt.

When the stallion seemed calm enough to suffer his presence Calan approached the stranger and lightly touched the other elf’s shoulder. With dismay he looked at the blood soaked sleeve and leggings. As expected, he got no response.

The elf was badly wounded and Calan wondered how he still had the strength to cling to the horse. He could not see the elf’s face but he was pretty sure that he was not from Imladris. Judging by the exhausted state of the horse and the appearance of the rider, the pair must have travelled a far distance without much rest and aid.

“Thelan, come down and help me,” he called and waited until his brother had appeared beside him. Calan pried the cramped fingers from the mane and carefully lowered the wounded elf to the ground. Thelan shoved the horse gently aside, although the stallion did not go far, watching them warily.

Thelan briefly concentrated on the trees and could still not sense any discontent coming from them. Nothing threatening was abroad. Satisfied he directed his attention at his brother.

“Where do you think he comes from?” he asked his older brother while he knelt down beside him. Calan shook his head while he studied the stranger’s face. He ripped the sleeve of the tunic open to inspect the wound on the elf’s upper arm.

“I do not know. I’ve never seen him before but I suspect he hails from Mirkwood.” Thelan only raised an eyebrow. He had never met a wood elf before. Where his brother got this clue from he had no idea.

Mirkwood was quite a far distance away and why would someone make this journey without proper provisions and suitable supplies? Yet something must have happened to this poor fellow, his wounds were bad enough to hint at dire circumstances.

Handing his brother his pouch containing the healing supplies Calan wound a thick bandage around the deep gash in the elf’s arm to staunch the blood still dripping from the wound. The elf did not look like he could lose much more blood.

After that Calan enlarged the rip on the elf’s leggings and inhaled sharply. Thelan leaned forward to see what had made his bother hiss. He swallowed. An arrow was still embedded in the thigh, the shaft broken just above the skin. A belt was bound tightly around the leg. Calan sighed. The condition of the stranger was bad and was getting worse with every minute.

Calan looked at his brother. “This is beyond my skill. I will take him to Master Elrond….” He held up his hand to silence his brother’s protest. “You will stay. The relief is due to appear shortly. Please explain what happened. I fear the poor fellow has not much time left.”

Accepting his brother’s request and knowing that they could not both abandon their post Thelan nodded. He also did not see any other options to help the elf further. Maybe Rivendell was the intended destination of the wood elf. “Make haste then and be careful.”

Calan nodded, relieved that he did not have to argue. He was not content leaving his brother alone but he had the comfort of knowing that the relief had to appear any minute now. Whistling for his horse Calan mounted and Thelan lifted the unconscious elf into his arms.

“Be careful yourself, little bother. I will see you in the morning.” Thelan nodded and slapped his brother’s horse lightly on the hind leg. The white stallion of the stranger followed at a close distance. When they had disappeared from sight after crossing the invisible barrier surrounding the valley Thelan leapt back up into the trees and resumed his watch.

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The Lord of Rivendell rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to chase away the slight headache that had settled there since the afternoon. Being only half elven he was prone to such maladies from time to time.

It had been a long day of much paperwork, list after list had to be completed and reports needed looking at. He was not loath to do this work, but today despite his best efforts the mountain of paper on his desk seemed to grow rather than diminish.

With an irritated glance, he looked out the window and judged that it had to be nearly dawn. Like often happened he had forgotten time over his work. Now he looked forward to a long hot soak and a few hours of sleep.

He rose from behind his massive desk after he had closed the last document. Just when he had reached the door, he stopped in surprise when the sound of hurried hoof beats and raised voices drifted up from the courtyard below.

With a raised eyebrow he turned and stepped out onto the balcony. A group of elves, including his twin sons were gathered around an elf still sitting on his horse. The healer narrowed his eyes. The elf seemed to be one of the border guards and he could see that he was clutching a limp body in his arms.

Elrond sighed. The prospect of a hot bath had just vanished. As if reading his thoughts, Elladan looked up. The anxiousness in his son’s eyes made him swallow. He could not make out whom the unfortunate fellow was, but the mental plea from the older twin to hurry made him hasten down into the courtyard all thoughts of sleep forgotten.

At the front door, Glorfindel intercepted him. Elrond only raised an eyebrow at the disshelved appearance. The Vanya had obviously been fast asleep. The warrior acknowledged the glance with a shrug of his shoulders.

Both Elf-lords hastened outside where the crowd made way for them. Elladan and Elrohir had lowered the wounded elf to the ground. For the first time Elrond was able to get a proper look at the elf.

He took a sharp intake of breath when he regarded the blood soaked patches on the elf’s arm and leg. He could not discern if the elf was even alive just from his looks. His pallor was not even white but rather grey.

After kneeling down Elrond placed two fingers against the younger elf’s neck and registered the shallow, yet much too frantic heartbeat. Nothing surprising considering the great blood loss, he thought.

Looking at the elf’s face the Elf-lord frowned. He gently shoved the mass of tangled black hair aside and swiped some of the dirt covering the face away.

The surprised cry from Elrohir confirmed what he had already discovered. “Ada, this is…” Elrond only nodded. There, lying more dead then alive was none other then Prince Saeron, King Thranduil’s second son.

Without a word but with a very troubled expression on his face Glorfindel bent down and lifted the limp body into his arms. Elrond had briefly looked at the wounds and conveyed to his councillor that he could do nothing further out here.

Coming back to his feet Elrond turned toward his sons. “Please see to the horse and recover the Prince’s belongings. I want a full report on what happened when I’m finished with Saeron.”

After the twins had nodded and strode away Elrond turned to face Calan, still standing beside his mount. “Captain, thank you for delivering the wounded elf to me this quickly. You will make your report to my sons and may return to your post afterwards but only after you have taken some rest and refreshed yourself.”

Calan inclined his head. “I’m glad I could be of service.” Elrond nodded and while the group of elves dispersed, he quickly hurried into the healing ward.

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After quickly throwing a working apron over his tunic and washing his hands, the Lord of Rivendell entered the healing room where Glorfindel had brought the injured elf. 

Some of his apprentices had already removed the elf’s clothing and cleaned off the worst of the dirt. Glorfindel still lingered nearby; determined not to leave until he could gather some information.

Elrond stepped up next to the table to take a close look at the limp body. The kind and pattern of the wounds sometimes told a story. Yet the important thing was to help improve the condition of the young elf, everything else had to wait.

He focused his attention solely on his patient. First he inspected the deep cut on the upper arm, which had thankfully stopped bleeding. However, this wound had to wait. First the arrow had to be removed if the youngster wanted to have full use of his leg again.

The arrowhead was deeply embedded into the thigh the shaft broken off just where it had pierced the skin. He had to cut it out then, he thought. Like the gash on the arm, the skin around the arrow looked angry, red, and inflamed. Proper treatment had been neglected for far too long.

What worried him most was the interrupted blood flow on the leg. It was a necessary treatment to avoid dying from blood loss, but it was also very difficult to treat afterwards. He could only hope that the leg was not damaged beyond repair.

Directing a resigned gaze at Glorfindel, Elrond checked the heartbeat again to be sure that the young elf was stable enough for the harsh treatment. Not content but reassured enough he slowly loosened the belt to allow a small amount of blood to flow again. Then he waited a few minutes. He repeated the action a few times until he could remove the belt entirely.

Elrond was grateful that the prince remained unconscious, since this procedure was extremely painful. With a small but sharp knife he made two small incisions to widen the wound. Being able to grasp the shaft now he carefully inserted an instrument, grasped the arrowhead with it, and pulled them out carefully. One of his apprentices quickly pressed a pad over the wound to stop the blood pouring forth.

With a frown the healer inspected the object. Glorfindel stiffened. The thoughtful expression on his Lord’s face was not lost on him. What was so special about this arrowhead? From his position he could not make out something uncommon, especially since the arrow was covered with blood.

He refrained from asking, knowing that Elrond did not appreciate being interrupted while he concentrated on his work. He would get his answer later. He noticed that Elrond had not just discarded the object as usual – most intriguing.

After Elrond had cleaned and stitched the wound, he directed his attention at the gash in the young elf’s upper arm. “What is it, Elrond?” Glorfindel asked with a low voice. The healer had again looked rather surprised at the wound. Glorfindel did not like this at all.

After further probing along the gash Elrond looked up. “Something is wrong with those wounds.” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes when the healer did not elaborate further. He stepped closer and looked intently at the long gash. He had seen many wounds in his long life and this one did not look any different to him. The tear was long, fine and rather deep.

Seeing the bewildered look on his friend’s face, Elrond relented. He took the arrowhead from the examination table, rubbed the blood off on his apron and handed it over. The warrior examined the object. It was smooth, sharp and evenly crafted. The precision of the workmanship was much too accurate for orcs or men to have made the item. 

When the realisation hit him, he looked up sharply. Elrond only nodded. “The cut is much too fine and deep to be caused by an orc dagger and the arrowhead is also not orc-made.”

Although guessing the answer already Glorfindfel could not help but ask; even if only for the benefit of the elves standing near looking at them expectantly. “Who do you think attacked him then?”

“Elves!” the healer answered without further ado. Glorfindel blew out his breath. Why would someone wish to kill King Thranduil´s son? Was it done to prevent him from reaching Rivendell? And why had he tried to come to the Valley in the first place? Glorfindel looked up frowning. “I will join your sons. Maybe we can learn more from the border guard. The twins must have had his report by now.”

Elrond only nodded. The discovery he just made disturbed him greatly but he refrained from jumping to any conclusion. Only Prince Saeron could tell them what had really happened.

“I will join you as soon as I’m finished here.” Glorfindel bowed and hurried from the room. He was curious to know what the guard had to report.

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When he reached Master Elrond’s study he silently opened the door and slipped in. He greeted the guard and the twins with a dip of his head.

“Elladan…Elrohir…  Captain I have a few questions of my own.” The twins did not so much as incline their heads while the border guard stiffened. Who was the stranger he and his brother had found that required the Troop Commander’s presence?

Seeing the reaction, Glorfindel smiled at the guard. “No need to worry, Captain, but our guest is prominent enough to investigate precisely.”

Calan relaxed only marginally. He did still not know who they had found and why a wounded elf was such a mystery. After all, orcs attacked every day. He had already told his Lord´s sons all he did now.

“Captain,” the older twin inquired to get the attention. “Please tell again how the meeting between you, your brother, and the injured elf happened.”

Calan looked straight at his Lord’s son aware that the Troop Commander and the younger twin were watching him intently.

“Our watch was nearly over, my Lord. My brother and I were already looking for the relief when a horse appeared beneath the trees. I stopped the beast and noticed the wounded elf. We cared for his wounds and while my brother remained, I made haste to bring him to Master Elrond. I feared that he would not last much longer without proper treatment. I’m sorry but there is not more to tell.”

“You did well, Captain. Did you discover where he came from?” Glorfindel asked with a kind voice seeing the nervousness of the guard.

Calan looked at his chief. Somehow he suspected that the Troop Commander already knew who the stranger was. “We guessed him to be from Mirkwood, my Lord. The poor elf and his beast were quite exhausted and it looked as if they had travelled far. The engraved leaves on his leather vest reminded me of some art I had seen in the Woodland Realm before,” he answered carefully, still not knowing where this questioning should lead.

Glorfindel nodded. “You have guessed right, Captain. Our wounded guest is Prince Saeron, King Thranduil´s second son.” Calan gasped. Now all the questioning made sense. He swallowed and looked up. He had not to wait long for the question he asked himself.

“Captain, have you any guess about who wounded the prince?” Glorfindel asked and Calan took an audible intake of breath. “No, my Lord, but it did not seem that he was attacked by orcs.”

Calan looked intently at his chief and ignored the surprised cries of his Lord’s sons. Glorfindel´s face was a mask. When the warrior stood, Calan rose as well.

“Thank you, Captain. Your information was very helpful. You are excused.” Inclining his head toward his superior and subsequently at his Lord’s sons Calan left the room.

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As soon as the door was closed, Elladan stepped in front of Glorfindel. “What did he mean with ‘it did not seem that he was attacked by orcs’?” he asked with a low voice. Elrohir had joined his brother and was as eager as Elladan to get an answer.

The warrior sighed. “Saeron was not attacked by orcs or men. The wounds stem undoubtedly from elven-made weapons.”

Elladan looked incredulous while Elrohir gasped. Glorfindel had come from the healing ward where their father had surely affirmed this.

The implications did not bode well. What was happening in Mirkwood?

To be continued……………………….