The Night's Wanderer

19. Wounded Welcomings

Legolas took his time to catch up with Morrandir. He didn't know if he really wanted to know the answer to his question. 

One answer would bring him hope again, the other would hurt like a pain Legolas was yet to feel. 

The death of a true friend. 

Indeed he had experienced loss in the past. But not that of a friend. Parental, yes, and that of one he had thought held his heart, yes as well, but that of a friend, no.

In the time passed it was rare for elves he knew to die. Yes some were lost 50 years ago at the Battle of the Five Armies, but none who were as good a friend to him as Aragorn has become. 

Ah, what a complex predicament.  

By the time he had caught up to the Wanderer Helm's Deep was in easy view.

"Morrandir," Legolas called, the Wanderer pausing just slightly before straightening up, shoulders no longer slouched. 

Before Legolas carried on, a question burning away on the tip of his tongue, his eyes analysed the ellon before him. 

Morrandir's grip was on Celebrandir's reins, but not to guide the steed, rather to keep himself up. His free arm wrapped around to his side, his hand pressed into his jacket and red tint tainting his skin. And his head stayed down slightly, not even pretending to meet the gaze of the Woodland Elf. 

"Are you wounded Mellon nìn?" (My friend) Legolas questioned softly, eyes focusing on the being before him. 

Before Morrandir could reply Celebrandir gave a huff and nodded his head, informing the older Elf of his rider's wounds. 

Cracking a smile at the horse's action Morrandir nodded in reply, no point denying what was already said. 

Gently Legolas pulled Morrandir's fingers from the leather that was Celebrandir's reins. He looped Morrandir's arm over his own shoulder and helped the Wanderer to stand, taking a moment to check him over to locate his wounds. 

There were tears in his clothing, and his skin, on both the front of his torso and his back. Four were present on his back, two seeming to cause more damage than the others as more blood stained his clothing, and two were present on his front, not bleeding heavily but still bleeding. 

"Let's get onto Celebrandir and we can get you healed." Legolas told him before assisting him onto the saddle. Pulling himself up as well he took the reins in his hands while sitting behind Morrandir.

Putting his feet in the stirrups Legolas gave Celebrandir a nudge to go forward, slowly guiding the steed to the party of horses to the side of them.

"A Warg got me, I was distracted for only a moment." Morrandir admitted to Legolas as Celebrandir joined the other horses carrying the King, Gimli and some of the wounded. 

He felt, again, like a burden to the group. Just because he couldn't see and was distracted for only a moment he has become hurt, something that his Lady would scold him for.

"I did not act as your eyes," Legolas whispered into Morrandir's ear making him shiver slightly, "for that I apologise."

"It is not something you need to apologise for," Morrandir replied, "You will not always be able to be my eyes, but when you are I cannot repay you for those moments Mellon nìn." (My friend)

Smiling as the Wanderer's words Legolas looked around the opening into Helm's Deep. People filled the streets as the wounded were tended to and families were found. 

Morrandir figured they had entered the supposed safe haven, Celebrandir's steps echoed as he walked across the stone flooring. He could hear hundreds of people talking all at once. Names being called, people crying and rushed conversations filling the air.