[Ealasaide]

Kaldir

Kaldir's eyes flickered open then closed again as he struggled back into consciousness. Someone, he knew not who, had lifted him and was half-carrying him across his shoulders, Kaldir's feet dragging limply across the stony earth. His mind still caught somewhere between waking and the world of nightmares, he tried to find his feet and walk for himself. Even as removed from the waking world as he was, he could sense that whoever carried him was either man or elf. Whoever it was hadn't the foul stench of an orc. Clumsily, he began to place his feet one before the other, trying to keep pace with his rescuer. His head still lolled weakly forward as his mind tried to find purchase in the waking world.

"Wait!" a familiar voice called out to one side of him. "I think he's trying to walk." In response, Kaldir's rescuer slowed slightly, allowing him the time to land his steps evenly. Kaldir's eyes flickered open again. By reflex, his hand reached for his sword. It was gone.

It took him a moment before he could place the voice. Finally, it came to him. "Mrs. Banks?" he murmured. How came she to be in Mordor? Only he wasn't in Mordor. That had been the dream. Naiore. He had seen her. This was Imladris and he had seen Naiore. The jolt of adrenaline that hit him as he remembered where he was wrenched Kaldir abruptly back into a foggy consciousness. Only half-aware of what he was doing, he pulled away from his rescuer and drew his dagger from the sheath on his belt. Naiore had to be stopped. Looking around, he saw the world in surreal detail: the battlefield, the grim faces of the elves as they pursued the fleeing orcs back across the river... but everyone, including himself, seemed to move with a nightmarish slowness. He could see Mrs. Banks take a step toward him, her hand stretched out. A ranger - his rescuer, perhaps? - threw out a hand to restrain her.

"Let him be!" the ranger said to her urgently. Kaldir turned toward the voice. It was familiar, too, as was the face. Trying to clear his head, he gave it a quick shake. All it did was dislodge a sharp jolt of pain that caused his eyes to water. Raising a hand to his face, he took a step backward and nearly fell over the body of a dead orc. Awkwardly, he regained his balance and turned again toward Mrs. Banks and the ranger. There was another with them as well, a hobbit, who again looked familiar, but Kaldir was unable to place him. Mrs. Banks shook off the restraining hand of the ranger.

"Mr. Kaldir," she called, only loud enough to be heard over the din of the ongoing battle. "It's me! Mrs. Banks, remember? Wherever you've been, you're back now. We've got to get you to the stairs." She took a step forward. His eyes fixed on the jeweled sword in her hand. Where had he seen it before?

Dúlrain. And Benia. Where was she? He turned and looked in the direction of the stairs. Slowly, reality began to settle back into place. He could see Benia Nightshade halfway up the staircase with a still unconscious Dúlrain and a small party of elves, who were both defending and helping them in their slow progress toward the entrance to Imladris. Lowering his dagger, Kaldir let out a long breath. It was coming back to him now: the river crossing, the meeting in the grove with the elves, the fighting. He turned a sharp glance at the hobbit who stood behind Mrs. Banks. Toby Longholes. Kaldir noticed he still carried Miss Nightshade's inlaid dagger. He had been surprised when she had given it to the hobbit to use, but, so far, it had not seemed to be a mistake. He let his attention shift to the ranger.

Rauthain?

By then, Mrs. Banks had reached him and her small hand closed around his. "Mr. Kaldir?"

He looked down at her and nodded. By then, their party had been joined by yet another man, this one leading a horse by the reins. As the newcomer engaged Toby Longholes in a short conversation, Kaldir sheathed his dagger. He still felt strangely weightless and detached from his surroundings, but at least things were beginning to make sense again. He gave Gilly's hand a squeeze, then released it.

"We should make for the stairs," he said quietly, knowing that they were all still vulnerable, largely because of him. "Where are my horse and my sword?"

When Gilly shook her head, he reached down and took the orcish blade from the dead hand of the orc he had nearly tripped over only a few minutes earlier. As for the horse, Nico could take care of himself. Woe be unto the orc who tried to ride him. He would find the horse later. He gave a curt nod of thanks to Rauthain and, guiding Gilly before him, turned in the direction of the stairs.