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Old 03-07-2004, 03:40 PM   #221
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Join Date: Dec 2002
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Hilde Bracegirdle has just left Hobbiton.
Gilly

Slowly the procession made its way to the crevice that bore the broad stone steps leading to the elves’ hidden refuge. At which point Dúlrain was carefully lifted from off his mount. The commander quickly placing the injured ranger in the care of two under his authority, who began transporting him away from the immediate danger of battle. Leading the riderless horse as well as her own, Benia followed behind them as they went, and directly after her Gilly picked her way amongst the horror that littered the battlefield.

Still clutching Dúlrain’s companion sword, the hobbit could not take her eyes off the ground in front of her. It seemed so very unreal that such things could still befall the free folk in this age, and the few remaining elves still loose their lives to the violent discord that seemed to echo though Middle Earth. Men too, struggling to establish peace, ended up embattled to do so. And embattled by what? One single elf, albeit a surpassingly dangerous one, and a pack of her foul cronies whose sole glory was in the shadow of their own appetite?

If only she could talk some sense into Naiore. Of course Gilly knew that it was an absurd notion, and she herself would no doubt shamefully burst into tears at the very least, but she couldn’t help thinking that the elf’s parents must not have known the merits of a stout wooden spoon when dealing with willful children. Or perhaps they knew it too well. How else could an elf have developed this deeply cruel and unnatural flaw?

Remembering again the trials that Mr. Kaldir must have suffered, Gilly glanced back toward where he fought alongside the fair folk who held the remaining orcs attention while Dúlrain was taken up. At first she could not see him as her eyes searched the confusion. But then as she squinted, a kneeling form she spied between the shifting combatants. To Gilly’s horror, she saw that that it was indeed her friend and that he bore a similar pained expression as she had first seen in the streets of Bree.

Without giving thought to herself or her charges, the hobbit left the pack pony and the safety of the procession to Imladris, rushing headlong into the fray. Dodging this way and that to avoid the sparring enemies, she reached her former captor’s side, just as an orc raised his blade to finish him off, as if some wounded animal were left on the field. Enraged, Gilly ran thrusting the point of Dúlrain’s sword between the lacings of the creature’s leather armor, shouting, “His life is his own, and neither you nor your mistress will have it of him!” The stout orc swatted this pest as she withdrew the sword, lofting her several feet, so that landing on her back she found she could not breathe. Clutching the gaping wound, the orc turned to avenge its own murder, and Gilly feared that she too would die today. Indeed the orc loomed quite close before it fell to its knees at her feet, and thankfully collapsed.

When Gilly returned to Kaldir, he appeared in a trance, his shoulder bleeding profusely. “Oh Mr. Kaldir!” she exclaimed looking anxiously around for help. “What a time and place you have picked to have a spell!” Seeing that there was no other to help, Gilly gently cupped Kaldir’s scarred face in her hands, bringing it to face her own. “Look at me,” she said firmly, as if speaking to one of her sons. “We must get you out of here. Tell me Mr. Kaldir, can you stand at all?”

But Kaldir’s stare was disconnected, unfocused, filled with pain and hatred. He was someplace faraway; someplace he seemed to care very little for. And as the hobbit searched his eyes, they seemed to dim, and his body slackening, slipped to the ground beside her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rauthain

Avanill and Rauthain fought at one another’s side, as much so that Rauthain could see that his partner did not have a hand in any mischief, as to defend each other’s back. Juta had wandered away quite some time ago, leaving the two men to work their way to the stair on foot. Given the distractions he encountered, Rauthain was following Avanill as carefully as he could, but stopped short when he saw an odd sight. There on the field was a lone hobbit crouched over a still body. Tears were in her eyes as she tore her petticoat to bind up the figure’s wounds.

As Rauthain drew closer he recognized the woman, and felt dread at discovering the identity of the person to whom she ministered. And as he approached he did indeed see that it was Kaldir who appeared lifeless at her side. Coming to stoop beside her, he quickly checked for a sign of his friend’s condition, before addressing her. “So we meet again, you with tears in your eyes,” he said smiling kindly at her. “And me thinking I was too late!” Gilly shook her head, sniffing as she put the final knot in the bandage.

“Be of good courage madam, this one has a strong heart and you will not loose him so easily. It would take more than this scratch to snatch his life, but I fear some older and deeper wound has come to bear.”

“I see that also, but in any case he must be taken away from this place sir, or he will not live. Already an orc has tried to destroy him.”

“Yes, the orcs would like to destroy all of us, no doubt. But where would you have me take him?”

“Not too far, just to the stair, sir.”

Now it occurred to the ranger in passing that in carrying out this needed action, one that lay close to his own heart, he could no longer keep watch over his charge, Avanill. And he would hardly be surprised if the young man took it upon himself to find Juta and make a hasty escape to where ever it might be that he wanted to go. Which would be bad in itself, for he should be held to judge for his part in the Ravennor’s plans, but also because Juta was not Rauthain’s own horse. And the older ranger dearly wished for the help of either horse or Avanill in conveying the limp weight of the tall and well-muscled Kaldir. Resigning himself to the inevitable play of events, Rauthain labored to lift Kaldir over his shoulder

“Then to the stair we go,” he said, and staining under the heavy weight, and following the swift hobbit through the battlefield, feeling regrettably like a large and slow moving target.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 03-18-2004 at 05:07 PM.
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