Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Bonds Made

The sky was just beginning to darken when Illeandir heard footsteps. Holding a hand out he motioned for Thrilo to stop. The dwarf froze, holding his breath as Illeandir swung himself silently into a nearby tree. Thrilo watched in fascination as the elf nearly flew up the trees, which seemed to shift ever so slightly to give him better footing.

Up high in the tree Illeandir scanned the forest. A flicker of motion caught his eye. Without moving his head he tracked the motion with his eyes. Here and there he caught a flash of movement heading along the river, parallel to his position. Slowly he lowered himself into the ground again, cringing each time he was forced to use his right arm.

Thrilo watched him with wide eyes. Illeandir brought a finger to his lips and pointed toward the river. Thrilo nodded and gripped his axe, a savage grin split his face. Illeandir made a calming gesture with his hands and the dwarf lowered his weapon.

"Stay," Illeandir whispered and slipped silently between the trees. As he walked he strung his bow and loosely fitted an arrow. He hoped he could still draw it with his arm. If not, he would be in a world of trouble.

He froze when a twig snapped up ahead of him. For several moments nothing moved save the leaves above and the birds. Slowly Illeandir began to move again. Placing one foot in front of the other as he closed in. Through the trees he could see a tall lithe form bearing several heavy sacks slung over their shoulders. He wasn't twenty feet away when they suddenly stopped and spun around. He froze and did not move but a grin threatened on his face.

Ithilwen scanned the trees around her frantically. She could feel a precense watching her but she could not see them. She turned around and busied herself with picking up the fallen satchels. A moments later a shadow fell across her. She spun around, aiming to hit whoever was behind her but she found her hand trapped by a much larger one. She looked up into leaf green eyes and gasped.

"You made it!"

Illeandir smiled, "Of course I did." Ithilwen let her bags fall and immediately began examining him. Illeandir fended her off. "Later," he said. Ithilwen crossed her arms.

"No."

"Yes. Thrilo is waiting for me," Illeandir said picking up two of the bags. Ithilwen noticed he avoided using his right arm but decided against saying anything.

"The dwarf?"

"Yes. Come." Illeandir didn't wait for her as he began walking away.

"Ellons," Ithilwen muttered to the treetops and followed him. Following him proved to be no easy task. Despite injuries, apparent in his limp and the blood soaked cloth around his leg, and the heavy baggage he carried he moved through the forest with an unearthly grace. As much as she tried Ithilwen could not copy. She had spent much of her life in Imladris and Minas Tirith helping to raise the new generation of Númenorean kings all the way from Aragorn to Eldarion and now Nara. Though she had not spent much time with Aragorn she had known him well. Eldarion was more of a brother, despite their differences, to her and Nara a friend. She felt a small pang of sadness for his loss but quickly surpressed it underneath a mountain of other feelings, like what she was going to do with Illeandir when they stopped. It would not be gentle. How she despised and admired the mercurial young woodland elf!

Ithilwen sighed in frustration as she yet again lost sight of him. She headed in the last direction she had seen him disappear and found him sitting next to the dwarf he had picked up on their way out of the citadel. He was searching through the bags for something. Thrilo looked on with interest and merely nodded when Ithilwen came into view. She set down her bag and motioned to Illeandir.

"Illeandir, Let me see your injuries," she said. Thrilo arched an eyebrow at the elf by his side. Illeandir shrugged.

"I have seen to them," was all he said. Ithilwen huffed and pointed to his leg, which was seeping fresh blood. The cut on his face was red and swollen.