Title & Chapter Number: Fireflies 4/23
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Oh, if wishes were rainbows… but they're not mine, never will be.
Warnings: Violence, mature themes, non-consensual elements, sexual content.
Betas: None
Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, and Galadriel
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: A band of hunters passes too close to the Golden Wood attracting unwanted attention while ensnaring something completely unintended.
Notes: Thanks again for all the wonderful comments.
Wounded Pride
Rúmil spotted the trap at once and frowned; this one was new, different somehow. Invisible to all but Elven eyes, a thin wire hovered just inches from the ground stretched as taut as a bowstring between two shrubs. He approached it warily while scanning its length, trying to get a sense of the trap it sprung.
Whistling softly to his companion, Rúmil waved him over. Following his gaze, Anendel crouched down next to Rúmil then leaned over to pick up a fallen branch that lay nearby.
"They have not used this manner of trap before. I wonder what kind of creature they hope to ensnare?”
Rúmil heard the Wood sigh in warning and could feel a sudden anxiety in the air as Anendel reached out with the gnarled branch in his hand to prod the wire gently.
"Anendel, wait…!"
To Rúmil, it seemed that time slowed, almost stopped, and then sped up with a frightening ferocity the moment the tip of the branch touched the wire. Propelled by the thin, flexible branches of the shrubs and as sharp as the edge of a dagger, the wire was cast forward, wrapping itself around both elves to slice cleanly through both fabric and flesh, the biting pain of the thin line flinging them backward with a gasp. Lying flat on their backs and breathing heavily, Rúmil recovered first.
"Anendel, how badly are you injured?"
Receiving no answer, Rúmil turned his head in the direction of his friend.
"Gwador?”
"I believe, physically, I am injured only slightly, mellon nín, but my pride has taken a most grievous wound.”
Rúmil laughed softly in understanding. The elves began to sit up carefully, hissing as they disentangled themselves from the cutting wire. Once free, they sprung up into the welcoming cover of the trees to check their injuries more closely.
Settling onto the thick, supporting branches and setting aside their weapons, Rúmil helped Anendel remove his cloak and tunic, grimacing in sympathy as the damage done by the wire was revealed. A thin, straight wound stretched across Anendel's chest and upper arms and continued around his right side and onto his back to stop only where his leather quiver had lain. The cut was not deep but bled profusely.
Tearing strips of cloth from Anendel's discarded tunic, Rúmil wrapped the wounds carefully then leaned him back against the tree, securely cradled within its protective branches. He was panting softly, seemingly unable to catch his breath, and this concerned Rúmil. Having been leaning in closer to the wire, Anendel had taken the brunt of the wire's whip.
Anendel noticed Rúmil studying him and squirmed. His limbs were tingling painfully, but he was sure it would pass, and he didn’t want to worry Rúmil unnecessarily.
"Were you also injured, meldir?"
Rúmil nodded, and said, "My left arm," and then turning over his hands, continued, "and I cut my palms while freeing us from the wire.”
Removing his outer garments, Rúmil unfastened his tunic with Anendel’s help and shrugged his arm free for his companion’s inspection. While not as extensive as Anendel's injury, the cut was much deeper, the blood welling from the wound making audible plopping sounds as it dripped onto the leaves below.
With a guilty sigh, Anendel said, "Your arm needs stitching, Rúmil. We will need the supplies in our packs before I can properly tend it.”
Rúmil sighed and nodded in agreement then silently turned his palms up to Anendel. Anendel tore a few strips of fabric from what was left of his ruined tunic and wrapped Rúmil's hands and arm securely. Seemingly exhausted by this task, Anendel returned to his position against the tree, his head lolling slightly to the side. Rúmil pursed his lips, watching him closely; his normally gregarious friend was oddly subdued.
"Anendel, are you certain you are well?”
Anendel's quiet nod was the only response given and did nothing to quell Rúmil's concern.
“You do know, do you not, that the blame is with those who set the wire? ‘Tis not your fault and I will *not* have you thinking thusly.”
Anendel smiled slightly and turning toward his friend, said, “Worry not for my spirit, mellon nín. I will feel much improved after I have had sufficient time to sulk… and have come up with a cunning plan for reprisal.”
Rúmil snorted in amusement, and then giving Anendel's knee a squeeze, he rose from the branch, refastened his tunic, and retrieved his weapons.
"Then I will leave you to your scheming,” said Rúmil, and he gently pressed Anendel back against the tree when he started to rise. As much as he would deny it, Rúmil knew that Anendel was not as well as he insisted. It was just not in his nature to be so quiet.
“Rest here for a few moments. When I return, we will head back to the outpost.” Again, all Rúmil received in response was a nod.
Rúmil climbed down through the branches of the tree and jumped silently to the ground. Cautiously, he made a wide circle of the area and was relieved to find no other traps lying in wait. Returning to the place he started, he glanced up briefly into the trees, easily spotting Anendel, unmoved, where he had left him. He then walked over to the trap and crouched down to study the now slack wire once more.
Brows coming together, he noticed something that he hadn't before; what appeared to be dew beaded up along the length of the wire that had been left untouched. He gently drew a finger along the line, collecting some of the oily substance on the tip of his finger.
'This is not dew.'
The sound of something lumbering through the wood tore Rúmil from his thoughts, and he knew that, barring orcs, the only beings that carelessly obvious were the Edain.
Deciding to join Anendel in the trees, he wiped his hand on his leggings and stood. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, leaving him swaying and breathless. He sagged against the tree where Anendel lay hidden, and reaching for a low branch, he barely managed to pull himself up. Though the sound of his heart was thrumming loudly in his ears, he could clearly hear the men coming closer. As he reached for another branch, the leaves of the tree began to swirl and sway madly around him, losing their definition and shape.
High in the trees above, Anendel cried out a voiceless warning as the men approached. His body was numb and his thoughts fuzzy as he struggled to move an arm, a finger, anything, but he could only watch in horror as Rúmil tumbled to the ground to land seemingly lifeless at their feet. There were two of them, and the one that he recognized as the leader was grinning widely.
Callin had stepped around the tree just in time to see an elf come crashing to the ground. Chuckling gleefully, he came to stand next to Rúmil's prone body.
"Well, well, now. What have we got here, another gift?”
~*~*~*~
Gwador = Brother (close friend, sworn brothers not of blood)
Mellon Nín = My Friend~*~*~*~
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