Part One: http://laurelinarchives.org/node/36106
Caethel's arrow took the orc-archer in the throat before he had time to draw back his bow for another shot. The scout leapt down the bank to where Eleanias lay, planting her own body firmly between the healer and any other arrows. Hands steady, expression composed, even through her fear for her companion, Caethel drew, aimed, and shot again, quickly dispatching the two warriors who had followed the archer out of the camp.
Hastily scanning the area, and realising their utterly indefensible position, Caethel muttered, almost to herself: “We cannot stay here...” Eleanias lay motionless.
Speaking a little louder, and more firmly, she addressed Eleanias over her shoulder, hoping that another voice would rouse her: “Can you move?” An orc-sentry dropped like a stone from the wooden wall, Caethel's grey-fletched arrow sticking from his chest. “Eleanias?”
There was no response. Caethel could hear the howls of warg-scouts, alerted to their position by the scent of blood in their air. Not moving from her protective stance, she shot down another sentry which had appeared on the walls, and was forced to shoot again quickly as two more appeared at the entrance. Every enemy to fall was drawing more attention – Eleanias had apparently been found by a patrol, which had not had time to rouse the camp, but even orcs were not so stupid as to keep losing their companions and not come and investigate.
The howls of wargs were ringing in her ears. Taking advantage of the brief pause, Caethel hastily bent down, pulling her cloak free, bow still ready, and pressed it one-handed against the wound in Eleanias' abdomen.
“Eleanias? Eleanias, listen to me. Here is some cloth... I need you to hold it, here.” Eleanias murmured something about finding the flower, and Aeralin, but her hands moved to hold the cloth in place. A wave of relief washed over Caethel, and she stood and smoothly shot down another sentry whose head popped over the parapet of the walls.
“Eleanias,” Caethel repeated, realising that the sound of her own name seemed to be steadying the healer. “We have to get out of here!” Eleanias continued to mumble about finding the flower, and Caethel made a small sound of frustration. She was no healer, and knew of no way to rouse Eleanias from this state. Nor was she strong enough to carry the healer back to Eliriael, if she could not move herself at all. Looking around desperately, she snatched up a small pale flower from the ground and held it close to Eleanias, still speaking in her low, urgent tone. “Eleanias – look at me. Is this it? Is this the flower?”
To her relief, Eleanias finally opened her eyes, and Caethel pressed her free hand to the cloth which Eleanias was still holding, frowning at the loss of blood.
But Eleanias shook her head, gasping out, “No... By the river... Like stars...”
Caethel frowned, but the idea of moving to go after the flower seemed to have galvanised the healer, and she half-raised herself: “I can... Walk...”
The scout hastily crouched to offer a steadying-arm to the wounded elf. Once she was standing, Eleanias turned immediately to the west, towards the river, and Caethel realised that Eleanias had no intention of going back to safety at all. She wasn't sure whether the healer had lost too much blood to realise their situation, or was simply too desperate to care. Even with the support of Caethel's arm, Eleanias seemed to sway where she stood. Red blood was soaking through the cloak pressed to her stomach, and both her hands and Caethel's were stained in it.
Biting her lip, Caethel shook her head firmly as the healer spoke again, voice strained in agony and barely audible: “I can hide... Behind that tree...”
There was no time. Childishly, Caethel wished she had never volunteered to come and find Eleanias – indeed, if she could, she'd have wished never to have been here at all. She should have been camped with the others, joking with Erion about their captain's idiosyncrasies, and sharing the late watches with Merilindis. If none of this had ever happened, if she'd never left the forest, never gone to Rivendell, or joined the Arrows, she could have been happy, among friends, rather than standing at the brink of disaster with a half-mad healer she barely knew, listening to the sounds of wargs on the hunt.
“Wait... listen.” Caethel interrupted Eleanias, still shaking her head at the other's determination. “Eliriael is a little way behind – she can help. I will take you there, and then...” Caethel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her decision settle. “Then, I will come back. For the flower – I promise. If you come back to Eliriael, now.”
Eleanias' relief was palpable, and she finally agreed to Caethel's urgent: “But we have to move now, before more come.” The healer's breathing was shallow and pained, she moved only very slowly, and Caethel could only give her as much support as she could while still holding her bow. As they moved towards the relative safety of the trees, the scout was forced to halt their slow progress altogether, leaving Eleanias stood shakily while she dispatched another patrol. Finally, all too slowly, they regained the undergrowth beneath the trees, and could hide from sight. By now Caethel was almost carrying Eleanias, praying that they would not be discovered, as she had no idea how she could possibly fight and support the rapidly weakening healer. Step by torturous step they made their way to the riverbank, and Caethel breathed a slow sigh of relief as she saw the slight figure of Eliriael waiting, as promised, well-concealed among the bushes.
Eleanias' endurance had finally given out, and she had become a dead weight. Caethel was secretly amazed that she was able to move the elleth any further – by the time she reached Eliriael she was breathless herself, and her arms and shoulders dragged with weariness. Eliriael took over caring for her companion as soon as Caethel lowered her to the ground, and Caethel stood a little aside, wishing she could simply refuse the claim Eleanias had lain against her – simply clear the way back to the camp for them both, and argue that she would have said anything, promised anything to get Eleanias to safety.
Still, she knew, she would have to go back. She'd never broken a promise in her life. Eleanias' small voice, reminding her, “They are like stars... Lightest shade of yellow...” was all it took to have her checking her bow and arrows again, preparing herself with that old gesture. One hand lingers on the carved grip. How she wished she was not facing this alone.
Eliriael is occupied with Eleanias, and only nods, not looking up, when Caethel addresses her. “Eliriael! I will be back in a moment. I will keep them off you here - do what you can for Eleanias. We will need to move again.”
One last lingering look, and Caethel turned, retracing their steps. As she cleared the trees, she paused for a moment to disguise their trail, checking that Eliriael and Eleanias remained well-concealed.
The howls of wargs ring in her ears as she turns her back to their secluded spot and begins to run, back into the din.
