It was dawn once more when Eldahir woke. Caledorn merely looked at him, got up, and immediately began running. Eldahir shook his head and took off after him. Do elves ever get tired? He thought the answer was probably no.
They ran for several hours, continuing through the autumnal forest until they reached a small ravine. Caledorn stopped and began searching along the side of the ravine, every now and again peering over the edge into the forest below. Eldahir wanted to ask what the elf was looking for, but he didn't want to be a bother. Instead, he watched the elf intently, trying to figure it out himself.
Caledorn crouched down beside a small rock, turning to Eldahir with what might have been construed as a triumphant expression, though had anyone else made it Eldahir would have assumed they had just tasted something unpleasant. He tapped it and nodded, then signaled Eldahir to follow him. He did this at several other places, and Eldahir finally just decided to ask.
"What exactly are you looking for?"
The elf seemed a little surprised, and turned back to Eldahir. "There are few alive who can find the haven of Imladris. We are drawing near now but we must find the path. There are white stones that mark it. These are not ordinary stones, and are not easy to find. Only those welcome in the House of Elrond will see them." He turned away and began looking again. He went to a tree and brushed some dead leaves away from the base of it with the end of his bow, revealing a dull white stone.
"Stones like that." Caledorn pointed at it and continued on for short distance, pointing out several more obvious stones. Eldahir tried to help the elf, but Caledorn seemed to already have a general idea of where they were. Suddenly he stopped.
Before them was a giant chasm. A river ran lazily at the bottom and its shores were dotted with yellow and gold trees. The path seemed to have ended abruptly though. Eldahir looked around. He didn't see it continuing anywhere.
Caledorn saw his confusion and stood beside him. "You looked to either side, and in front of you and behind you. But did you look down?" The elf pointed to the drop-off right in front of Eldahir. He looked down carefully. Below him was a winding path leading down the cliffside, descending down to the forest below.
Caledorn looked at him expectantly. Eldahir looked back for a moment, then climbed down to the trail. They traveled along it for a little while, then came upon a tunnel of carved stone. They carefully navigated it, having to squeeze through sideways at several points. They finally reached the end, and Eldahir gasped in awe at what he saw. In front of him was Rivendell, the Hidden Valley of the Elves.
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The Orc picked up a blood-soaked leaf. He put it to his lips and tasted it, his nose scrunching up.
"Tark* blood!" The Orc said to his comrades.
The other orcs looked to their leader and growled. The captain licked his lips in anticipation.
"Man flesh," he hissed.
"Be not overly excited at the prospect of a meal, orc," A noble voice interrupted, causing the small band of orcs to turn to face the newcomer.
There were two men standing before them, cloaks of midnight black cast over their broad shoulders. Both men wore helms of iron that framed their pale faces, making them appear cruel and inhuman. They carried longbows and sharp short swords were sheathed at their sides. The man who had spoken first stepped forward, and the orc captain drew back in deference.
"How old is the blood?" The man asked, raising his chin imperiously.
"About two hours." The Orc spat. "He can't be far. We should have him soon."
The man looked over at the Orc, his lips curling upward in a cruel smile. "And then he'll wish he'd never been born."
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Gerithor could barely walk, he felt weak and was losing blood steadily. He forced himself to continue on, slowly making his way through the forest. With each passing moment it felt larger and more frightening, his injury making him feel vulnerable to all that moved.
He didn't want to stop until Rivendell, although he knew deep down that was impossible. He traveled all day and well into the night, but was finally unable to continue. He collapsed to the ground and crawled to a tree, propping himself against it as he pulled the cloth bandage from his skin to survey the wound. It was still bleeding and had opened up even more when he was walking. Two of his ribs were now visible, poking up through the rent flesh. He winced and put the cloth back, checking on Alif as he leaned back against the tree. The baby was awake, and looked back at him curiously. Gerithor attempted a smile.
"Hey lad. We're going to be alright. I'm taking you somewhere safe," He said, more for his own sake than the baby's. He didn't believe his own words.
Alif looked at his uncle, almost looking concerned. Gerithor realized he must look terrible. He smirked at the baby.
"I know I'm ugly but you don't have to look at me like that!" He laughed softly, then winced as a pain shot through his side. "I better not laugh either, eh?" He looked at Alif and winked. The baby began to giggle. Gerithor smiled and put a finger on Alif's nose. This made him giggle even more. Gerithor smirked and said, "you better stop, or you're gonna make me start laughing again." He pulled Alif from the pack and cradled him in his arms. He softly sang a song to the little baby as he held him:
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?*
Alif slowly closed his eyes as Gerithor sang, and fell asleep. Gerithor smiled down at the baby slowly rocking him as the gentle wind brushed by them both. He had heard the song as a boy; his mother had sung it to him many times before he went to sleep. As he quietly sang it now he pictured his mother singing it to him. It distracted him from the pain, and he soon closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, sleeping a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
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He woke up a few hours later, realizing that the sun had already risen high into the sky. He moved to stretch, but gasped as his side was wracked with pain. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this, but he knew he had to find help, and soon.
He began going eastward, walking slowly because moving too much caused terrible pain in his side. He traveled until he came upon a river. Kneeling beside it, he filled his waterskin and took a long, refreshing drink of the cold, clean water.
Suddenly, he heard a twig snap. He looked up, away toward the other side of the river where the sound had come from, and standing there was a small deer. It hadn't seemed to notice Gerithor and was drinking greedily from the river. Gerithor reached for an arrow. Fresh venison sounds good, he thought as he fitted the arrow to his bow. He drew back.
Twang! The arrow flew true, and hit the deer. The arrow hadn't even left the string before Gerithor realized his dilemma, though. It was on the other side of the river, and in his condition, he couldn't very easily swim across. Not willing to let himself fall into despair, he tried to hide his frustration and spoke quietly over his shoulder.
"Alif, don't take after your uncle. He's not very smart." The baby was apparently awake, and he giggled. Gerithor smirked and decided to continue onward, leaving the deer behind. Little did he know, he may have saved both his and Alif's lives by doing so.
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The iron masked man stalked through the trees, bow in hand. The other man was close behind him, but the orcs lagged behind a little. Suddenly he signaled the hunting party to stop. Laying on the far bank of the river was a dead deer, with a green-feathered arrow lodged in its heart. The man narrowed his eyes and spat.
"He must have found a way to get across the river." He looked at the Orc captain, anger flashing across his gaunt face.
"Ach! Tark scum, he must have help. There's no way he's made it this far alone, as injured as he is." The Orc hissed.
"We must find a way to get across. We'll lose him if we go all the way to the ford. And there's elves in those parts, or so I'm told." The man spoke with urgency, but his tone still managed to remain regal and refined.
"Ach, you're right. Build a raft!" He yelled to the orcs accompanying him. They began cutting large branches from the trees, and in a little while had strung them together to build a makeshift raft. They pushed it into the water and orcs and men clambered on, rowing themselves to the other shore.
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It was raining again, but this time a freezing cold wind blew through as well. Gerithor pulled his cloak around himself to keep warm, with little success. He had put the pack on under his cloak, so now Alif was protected from the elements a little better.c
The baby was asleep again. After finding out Alif couldn't eat salted meat or waybread, Gerithor had gathered some berries and mashed them up, and fed those to him instead. For some reason, they made the baby sleepy, even though Gerithor knew they were perfectly edible. He considered it a plus, because if Alif was asleep, he didn't cry.
He trudged onward through the rain. He was making his way to a ford in the river, and he knew he must be getting close. He could barely see the road in the distance, winding its way east through the forest. He didn't want to travel on the road for fear of being seen, but he had no other way to cross the river than the ford that the road used.
He reached the side of the road, taking a moment to make sure there were no enemies on the road. Just as he thought it was clear, movement caught his eye and he dropped down into the dip on the roadside. Standing in middle of the road was a lone horseman, dressed in dark blue. The darkness had obscured him, but fortunately for Gerithor, the horse had twitched his tail. A hood covered the rider's head and the blue cloak made it hard to distinguish any features, but Gerithor could see that the rider was small. The rider spurred his horse forward, and the horse trod slowly ahead. Gerithor thought for a moment. They look harmless. But what's a rider doing on the road in pouring rain? It's best if I wait to get a closer look. He winced as a sharp pain went through his side, but he managed not to make any noise.
The rider was nearly upon his hiding spot now. He could barely see the rider's face, but he could tell that it was a young woman now. Stranger and stranger. That's when he saw the medicine box hanging from her saddle. Eru seems to favor me, that could hold just what I need, he thought as another pain shot through his side. As the rider continued on, the flash of silver drew his attention to the sword that was strapped at the woman's side. He decided to play it safe and drew his bow, pulling his scarf over his face to conceal his pale, blood drained countenance.
He sprang from the bushes, pulling his bow back and aiming it at the woman's horse. She looked frightened, and for the moment she didn't seem to notice the difficulty with which he was holding the bow taut.
"What do you want??" She said, the fear in her voice evident.
"I need that medicine, ma'am. Toss it over here and I'll let you go peacefully." He tried to sound tough, but he winced from the pain of holding the drawn bow back. The woman still looked frightened, but a little concerned as well.
"Are you injured?" She looked at Gerithor's side, which was still bleeding through the cloth and was likely more visible than he had intended.
"That is none of your concern." He said, trying to sound rough, hoping she thought he was a bandit or brigand and not worth the fight.
"Just give me the medicine and you can be on your way." Just then Alif began crying. The woman looked surprised, then even more concerned as she peered through the rain.
"You have a baby with you?" She looked at him with soft blue eyes. Gerithor realized there was no point in lying at this point. He couldn't hide his predicament forever. He lowered his bow, resting his hand upon his sword in case she decided to attack.
"Yes, he's my nephew. I need the medicine because I was wounded. I don't want to make this difficult for you, but I won't last much longer without medicine." He realized he had probably already ruined his chances of getting the medicine anyway at this point.
She looked at him and appeared to think for a moment. Then her eyes landed on his brooch. An expression of recognition seemed to come over her, and her demeanor changed completely. "Follow me. I'll provide what healing I can and give you some warm food there."
Gerithor was shocked. Why was this woman showing him kindness after he had just tried to rob her? "That is very kind of you milady, but I would only be a burden."
"Nonsense, my house is just a short ride away. It won't be any trouble at all." She smiled again and held out a hand. Gerithor thought for a moment. What if this is a trap? Well, I'm almost dead anyway, it wouldn't make much of a difference now. He took the woman's hand, lifting himself onto the horse and clenching his teeth as the pain in his side worsened. The woman spurred the horse onward, and they began going slowly down the road.
*Tark means Man in Westron
** the song Gerithor was singing was called "The Song of Eldamar" and was a song written by an Elf of Lorien