Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

Author’s note:

As always many, many thanks to my wonderful beta reader Erulisse.

Chapter 1:  a new malice

Gelir blanched when the sickening sound of an arrow embedding itself into flesh reached his ears. Knowing that only his brother was near enough to have been the target, he turned toward him after making sure that no additional orcs were advancing.

As he had feared, his brother had been struck and was now bent over, his fingers grasping the shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh. Although the wound was without doubt painful, Gelir was relieved to see that his brother was not too badly wounded.

The two were part of a six-warrior group of scouts from Imladris who had been assigned the task of determining how the levels of orc activity in the high pass of the Mist Mountains had changed. Travellers to and from the land of Rhovanion had been reporting increased ambushes and more frequent attacks.

No sooner had the group arrived at their appointed destination than the warriors had been engaged in their first fight, proving the reports were true.

It was now their second day and this had been their third altercation with a band of orcs. Gelir looked around once more and when he was sure that no orcs remained alive he hastened toward his brother.

“Gaerion, are you alright?” he asked and grimaced instantly at the silliness of his question. The incredulous look on his brother’s face confirmed it clearly.

“Of course I’m alright. Why do you ask?” he said sarcastically and Gelir lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered already angry at himself. His tongue was always quicker then his brain.

Gaerion however waved the apology aside.

“Help me sit down, little brother. I need your assistance to get this dammed thing out!”

Gelir supported his brother until Gaerion was sitting and slowly straightening out his leg. Gelir stilled his brother´s fumbling hand when he saw Talven, the group’s healer running to them.

“Let me do this,” the fair haired elf said while kneeling and slapping Gaerion’s hand away. He knew how stubborn the older of the two brothers could be. Even if the wound was not life-threatening, an arrow not removed properly could cause great harm.

Gaerion only raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly up the hill where Talven had been kneeling beside another wounded comrade.

“Thelian is no longer in need of my service!” the healer said, his lips pressed into a thin line. The young warrior he had tried to help had been dying when he arrived, suffering from a deep wound in his side from an orc’s blade.

Gaerion pressed his lips together when Talven probed the arrow. While the healer determined how to best make the incision to remove the arrow, heat began suddenly spreading from his thigh throughout his lower body and quickly up his torso.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening his vision begun to blur and his hands to shake. He was unable to speak, only a panicked squeak sounded from him.

Talven looked up irritated at first but with rising concern when seeing all colour draining from the warrior’s face.

“Gaerion, what is it?” Gelir asked his voice shaking. He was clearly seeing his brother’s fast deteriorating state. He gripped the older elf’s arm to steady him.

Gaerion however was no longer able to say anything. His body was shaking violently.

“Help him lie down,” Talven ordered while he already straightened out the warrior’s legs. Gelir lowered his brother’s upper body carefully to the ground. Gaerion´s head was striking the ground as he began convulsing.

“What is it?” Gelir asked an anxious gaze directed at the healer as he pressed down on his brother’s body, attempting to control the violent tremors.

Talven only narrowed his eyes and said only one word: “Poison!”

Gelir swallowed. Orcs using poison on the tips of their arrows was not uncommon. Yet if treated quickly the effects were, while painful and taxing, almost always curable. The effects of the poisons he was familiar with were nothing compared to what his brother was suffering now. Gaerion was staring blindly ahead, his body convulsing with seizures, his breath ragged.

As quickly as it had started, it stopped. From one second to the other Gearion´s body went slack and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

Talven bend over the prone figure and placed his fingers on the elf’s neck to search for a pulse.

Gelir shifted to cushion the head of his brother in his lap.

When Talven remained in his crouched position Gelir cleared his throat.

“Talven, how is he?” he asked his voice already breaking. He was not only feeling the utter stillness of the body resting in his lap, he had also clearly felt the severing of their bond.

Talven´s next words crumbled his world.

“He’s dead!”

Although Gelir was clearly feeling the horrible truth he stared at the healer aghast.

“He’s dead?” he asked incredulously, yet with not much vigour. His hand was absentmindedly caressing his brothers pale cheek.

Not answering the question directed at him Talven shook his head in bewilderment. He was at a loss. He had been a healer nearly all his life and he was devoted to his profession but in all this time he had never seen a comrade die from poison, at least not unless another injury had also weakened him.

And this poison was fast, faster than any he had come across before. Poison was transported through the blood vessels and usually needed some time to reach vital organs or to do great damage. He had never heard of a victim dying within an hour of being struck with an arrow like this. This could not be and yet Gaerion’s dead body was proof that his experience was wrong.

Again Talven searched for a pulse but the look in Gelir’s face proved this gesture was useless.

When someone dropped beside him Talven looked up into the face of Geldarion, the captain of their group. The raised eyebrow of his superior clearly required an answer, yet Talven could provide none. He followed the captain’s gaze and only now he recognized that the arrow was still sticking in the warrior’s tight.

“Gaerion was hit and died within minutes. I was unable to help him,” Talven said in a mixed explanation and apology. Geldarion only nodded.

“Remove the arrow and preserve it. If the poison is this deadly then we must show it to Lord Elrond!”

Talven nodded while Geldarion rose. The captain gestured for Gelir to follow him and the healer observed that the captain was quietly speaking with the young warrior.

With practiced movements Talven removed the arrow, carefully avoiding its tip. When he looked closely he could see the typical oily black substance clinging to it. It looked no different than other poisoned arrows he had seen but something had been distinctive about this one.

The last warrior of their group had already gathered their horses, sent away when the battle had started. Talven rose and retrieved a bundle of linen from his bags slung in their usual position across his mare’s neck. He wrapped the arrow in several layers and carefully stored it in the bag.

Then he returned, wrapped the still body of Gaerion in his clock and draped the corpse over the back of the warrior’s horse. The stallion danced nervously not appreciating this kind of burden on his back. After Talven had spoken softly to the horse he looked up at a whistle.

Geldarion had already given the signal to depart. The remaining warriors of their group had dragged the dead orcs to the rim of the plateau and thrown them down into the abyss. They would not waste any more effort.

Talven mounted his own horse after he had made sure that none of their belongings had been left behind. He brought up the rear of their decimated group. Gelir had moved into line just in front of him leading the horse bearing his brother’s body. Talven was unable to glimpse of the younger elf’s face. Yet, what could he expect to see beside grief?

To be continued……………….