All Living Things by Keiliss

---

Chapter One

---

It happened, as do most unlikely events, on an ordinary day, or as ordinary as days could be in Imladris under siege by the forces of the Witch King of Angmar.

“What are you muttering about?” Glorfindel asked sleepily. The sun was barely up, the light sliding in through the open window was still dawn-soft. Somewhere just out of his sight, someone was swearing. It did not mix well with the birdsong.

“Damn boot lace,” Erestor grumbled, coming into view. He sat hard on the end of the bed, making it impossible for Glorfindel to slip back into slumber. “How do they get tangled? Do they have a secret life?”

“Depends,” Glorfindel said with a yawn. “Take a look around for wine spills and leftover edible flowers.”

“Funny.”

Glorfindel propped himself up on an elbow, gaining a view of long black hair and green clad shoulders. “It’s barely morning, where are you off to? Not that there’s many choices.”

Imladris had been under siege for close to a year now, long enough for it to have settled into a way of life for the inhabitants. No one could leave the valley, but that, the general feeling ran, was all right so long as no one could find a way in. Otherwise they had food and water and life went on as best it could.

“I am going down the valley,” Erestor said, finally looking up and shaking hair out of his face, “to find out why every time I ask for some idea of the number of sheep in the east pasture, I get a reply that is clearly, clearly, an attempt to cover something up. I want to see for myself exactly what and why.”

“You like your numbers to add up, yes.”

“Are you suggesting I am a boring bureaucrat?” Erestor gave him a hard stare before starting to wind his hair up and out of the way.

Glorfindel sighed and sat up properly. “Not when you can avoid it. And I have nothing better to do with my time today so I may as well come with you and help count the sheep.”

Erestor hesitated. “We’re not walking again, right? Horses, yes? No getting in touch with the spirit of the valley today. I’m happy for it to grow without telling me about it.”

“Horses,” Glorfindel agreed, amused. “If you’re not in too much of a hurry I could even arrange a lunch to take along. Make an outing of it. The days are starting to run into one another. We need some variety.”

-----o

It was a warm day with a light breeze, perfect for riding. The established path to the little valley that fed Elrond’s household and the village that had grown up around it lay barely within range of all but a lucky shot from a member of the besieging force, but there had been one or two attempts at that before Elrond decided on an alternate route along the opposite cliff face, invisible to the army camped directly above. It took longer and involved crossing back over a temporary bridge that swayed alarmingly, but the air was fresh, the birds sang, and it was a pleasant day for an outing.

The bridge returned them to the other side of the gorge near the small Edain settlement that sheltered amongst ancient trees, a wall of rock rising grey and steep behind it. As they approached, a couple of young Edain slipped out from the woods  and stood in their path, waiting. As they drew near, Glorfindel held back slightly, deferring to Erestor as Elrond’s senior councillor, but the boys knew who handled the valley’s security and addressed themselves to Glorfindel.

“Please, my lord, there’s a – thing – problem.  We wanted to come up to the lord’s house, but our fathers said whatever it was would go as it came, or else one of the elven folk would come past.”

He glanced at Erestor, who shrugged.  “Problem?”

“Strange cries, my lord. And crashing, like…” The shorter of the two, light haired and still beardless, spread his hands to indicate the extent of the noise.

“Like a bear,” suggested his companion eagerly.

“We have a sad lack of bears in the valley,” said Erestor, who liked bears.  “Something smaller perhaps?”

“Where was this?” Glorfindel asked, practically. “And how long ago?”

“It’s been on and off for days, my lord. Not heard an animal like it before.”

“Well, not now, Barth, it’s been quiet the last day.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s gone,” Barth insisted.

“Whereabouts?” Erestor interrupted before the argument could pick up speed.

The boys exchanged an uncertain look. “Um…. Sort of – over there? Over the river.” the one who was not Barth said, gesturing vaguely.

Erestor’s eyebrow twitched, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

“We’re going down the end, to the sheep enclosure or whatever you call it,” Glorfindel said. “We can take a look on the way back if you give us a better idea of where.”

“Over there,” Erestor repeated dryly, pointing towards the trees lining the river.

The boys were dissatisfied but in no position to argue. “We’ll definitely investigate,” Glorfindel said with a steadying hand on his mount’s neck – the big white horse was getting restless. “Just let us get this business with the sheep out of the way first.”

-----o

The sheep milled noisily about while Erestor walked their perimeter and counted. This was his third attempt; the last two were apparently unsuccessful although he had not done it out loud.

“Just call it a small flock of sheep,” said Glorfindel, amused. “It’s as good a tally as any.”

“Yes, but…”

“Some sheep, Erestor. It’s the best you’ll get.”

Erestor sighed and looked to the shepherd and his wife, who both nodded confirmation. The sheep pushed at each other mainly good naturedly, competing for what they felt was the more succulent grass. They were not the peaceful little black and white sheep of the coastal villages. These were big creatures with great curving horns like goats and temperaments to match. If they did not want to stand quiet and be counted, no one was going to make them.

The pasture was tucked away in a far corner of the valley, close against one of the massive mountain slopes that enclosed Imladris, a better barrier against assault than anything they could have created themselves. Around them grassland stretched to the forested areas on the lower slopes, some of which had been terraced for cultivation. Tiny pink and yellow flowers studded the grass. The shepherd’s house was set some distance from the sheepfold – for good reason, Glorfindel thought, wrinkling his nose. The scene was invitingly calm and peaceful save for the two archers seated on a shelf of rock not far from them, keeping watch for possible interlopers.

“All right, I’ll accept a little uncertainty in the numbers,” Erestor conceded with a sigh. “I suppose I have to - the damn things never keep still. And I’ll have the requested feed sent out later in the week. Though they seem to be doing well enough on the grass.”

“If they crop exclusively on grass there’d soon be none left,” the shepherd’s wife said. “This lot are like goats, they’d eat anything. That’s why we supplement with dry feed. They seem to like it too, and happy sheep give happy milk and warmer fleece.”

Glorfindel, who loathed sheep’s milk, thought it best not to comment.

Erestor’s mission accomplished, they found a spot among the trees on the edge of the pasture and ate the lunch Glorfindel had managed to beg from the kitchen. It was quiet in the dappled sunlight save for the occasional bleat, and a good, private place for long kisses and soft words. Later Erestor stretched out and closed his eyes for a while, soaking up the sun like a cat. Glorfindel leaned back and watched the sky, looking for shapes in the billowy white clouds as he had done as a child back across the sea. Middle-earth, he decided, had better clouds.

They had almost reached the Edain settlement before either of them recalled their earlier promise. Glorfindel slowed his horse to a walk. “They said somewhere over there, right?” he asked, gesturing to the forested riverbank beyond the bridge. The facing cliff brooded over them, casting shade even on a bright afternoon.

“It was probably a deer,” Erestor said with a sigh. “That or a family of boar looking for a new home. They make an unconscionable noise about it, or so the complaints say.  Resettling boar is one of the few things I’ve not yet had to deal with.”

“Still, we’d better go take a look.” Glorfindel made no attempt to hide his lack of enthusiasm. A meal and a rest in the sun had left him more interested in getting home and stretching out on the bed, with or without Erestor. Preferably with.

“This job is more trouble than it’s worth sometimes.” Erestor looked around, but the young men were nowhere in sight, in fact the whole settlement was quiet. “I suppose everyone’s out working the fields or something, the terraces along the north side are theirs.”

Glorfindel eyed the skyline above them, studying it for movement but there was none. A carefully aimed arrow might be a problem before they were on the far side of the river, but the angle was difficult, making it unlikely. The crossing point had been chosen carefully to be almost obscured from view. Once across, they would be up against the cliff and impossible to see.

They went over the bridge, ignoring the unsettling sway. “Down there where the trees are thicker?” Erestor suggested. “It’s about level with them and sounds would carry. This stretch of the river’s quite quiet.”

Glorfindel looked for signs of animal tracks, but there was nothing recent. He shrugged, turned his horse downriver – and the animal stopped dead. Just behind him, Erestor’s ride made a dismayed snorting sound and tried to lurch sideways. He heard Erestor swear.  He slitted his eyes against the light, trying to penetrate the flickering shadows amongst the trees. Beside him now, Erestor said quietly, “Over there. Something came this way. Those bushes have been flattened.”

He started to urge his horse forward, but Glorfindel stopped him with a raised hand. “Let’s not rush into this, all right? It’s flattened, yes, but it looks – more like something fell from above.”

“They’re disposing of camp waste into the Bruinen now?” Erestor was outraged. “It’s bad enough Angmar’s forces are up there without them littering our riverbank.”

Glorfindel shook his head, looking around. “Camp waste would still be there.”

“True.”

They fell silent, both trying to listen for sounds. The horses were restless and uncooperative. Finally Erestor said quietly, “There’re no birds.”

“What?” Glorfindel frowned, focused on birdsong, found it missing. “Something’s wrong here.”

“But no noises like the boys said.” Erestor dismounted as he spoke and looped the reins over a low branch. “Stay here, Geb.”

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” Glorfindel swung hastily down.

“Horses are no good amongst trees and they don’t want to go there anyhow. I’m taking a look. We can’t just leave it and ride off. Something happened here.”

“I’m only lightly armed and it’s just the two of us.” He had barely thought to bring a sword, the valley felt safe even under siege.

Erestor turned to stare at him from the shadow of a massive oak, his eyes a-glitter in the low light. “You’ve fought wargs and orcs and all sorts of humans,” he pointed out. “And a balrog. You’re an army all wrapped up in one package. Come on.”

There was no point in arguing once Erestor got an idea in his head. Grimacing Glorfindel tied his horse up a decent distance from Geb, who was a known trouble maker, and followed.

When they reached the bent and trampled undergrowth, they stopped to frown at it and generally look around. Within moments Glorfindel touched his arm and pointed. “Tracks,” he said very quietly. “As though something has been dragged... And we’ve been talking at the tops of our voices here.”

“We haven’t. We’re right under the cliff. We were talking quietly to avoid becoming a target.”

“As you wish. Come on, this way. Behind me, Erestor, damn it.”

“I hear and obey, my hero.”

“Not funny.”

They passed by the disturbance that had first caught their attention. Glorfindel leant down and whispered, his mouth close to Erestor’s ear, “Those stains there? That’s blood.”

Erestor crouched to have a better look at the tracks then straightened up with a frown. “Not sure we shouldn’t go put together a party and come back,” he muttered. “I don’t like how that looks at all.”

“Something or someone fell down the cliff, and then pulled deeper into cover,” Glorfindel hazarded. “But we’ve not lost anyone, so who or what?”

The sound was small, so quiet it was barely audible above the rush of the river. Like a cough cut short.  Glorfindel’s uncertainty became a palpable thing as he tried to pull Erestor back, but Erestor had more curiosity than caution and went forward on now-soundless feet. Left with no choice, Glorfindel followed.

The trees closed around them, the leaves forming patterns of light and shade with occasional eye-stinging flashes of sun shining off water through gaps at the river’s edge. They had only gone a few paces before Erestor paused to pull a face at Glorfindel and raise a hand to his nose. The odour had been there earlier but not as strongly and as far as he had thought of it at all, Glorfindel had assumed a decaying animal carcass.  It was getting stronger now and there were flies, too. He supposed that was proof they were moving in the right direction.

There was another sound, higher-pitched this time like a kitten’s mewl, and Erestor hesitated a moment and then shifted direction to follow it. The trees abruptly opened into a grass-carpeted clearing. A creature, shorter but bulkier than an elf, lay curled against a tree trunk, breathing hard. A slope led down to the river, too steep for access by a hurt and thirsty….

“An orc!” Glorfindel grabbed Erestor’s arm and tried to drag him behind him. He half-drew his sword while looking around for a second weapon for Erestor – a rock, a decent branch, anything.

Erestor leaned round him, staring. “Wait, it’s hurt…”

Glorfindel had an urge to shake him. “It’s an orc. What part of that did you not understand?”

“It’s hurt!” Erestor tutted impatience and shoved past him, coming to a halt as the wounded creature reared up on an elbow with a harsh, guttural sound. Glorfindel followed him with a curse and only then did he see the arrows protruding from the orc’s shoulder and side, the way it was unable to sit up fully.

Erestor dropped to a crouch, just out of range. “We not hurt,” he said softly to the orc. “Not hurt.”  After a pause he added a phrase in a language that itched Glorfindel’s ears.

His hand fell from his sword hilt. “You know the Black Speech? You have got to be joking. How…?”

“I’m a scholar, it’s my job.” Erestor spoke without turning his head, suggesting he had not lost all sense of place and danger. “Do we have any water left?”

Glorfindel had almost forgotten about the bag he carried slung over one shoulder with the remains of their picnic. “The flask’s empty,” he said automatically without needing to check. As he realised what Erestor wanted it for, he said sharply, “No, I am not going down there to fill it and leave you alone with…”

“I am perfectly safe here, don’t be ridiculous. I could outrun a bear with that number of arrows sticking into it.  Get some water.”

He turned to glare at Glorfindel but another, softer sound made them both look back.  The orc was trying to push something down out of sight behind it but was not fast enough. For a moment Glorfindel was not sure what he had seen or if he believed it, but then Erestor exclaimed, “Oh no,” in the same instant as he said, “Is that a baby?”

The orc was making snarling, angry noises, but at her offspring, not them. Erestor gave him a level look. Glorfindel half shrugged and backed off holding up the flask. “Getting water, yes. You be careful here. Just going right down there…” he added, pointing to the gap between the trees.

Erestor glared. “Stop fussing and get her water. We’ll decide what to do after that.”

Glorfindel’s experience of orcs did not include care and nurturing, but he could not in conscience let any creature lie hurt and thirsty where he could help. He slid halfway down the bank and managed to fill the flask without falling in, which he took as a bonus under the circumstances.  In the background he could hear Erestor’s voice, soft and reassuring. He spoke to horses like that. And small cats. This was neither.

When he returned, Erestor was sitting cross legged in front of the orc saying coaxingly, “Just let me look, all right? I won’t pull them out or anything, just see how bad this is and if we can help.”

Glorfindel handed over the flask without a word. Erestor glanced up at him. “And a cup? Oh all right, I won’t push it. Sorry. Thank you for the water.” He removed the cap and held out the flask. “Water. Can you manage?”

The orc tried and failed to prop herself up fully. Erestor shook his head, took a visible breath and leaned closer. Glorfindel tensed, ready to leap forward. When the flask touched her lips, the orc took a few sips and then slowly, carefully put her hand to it and took it from Erestor. Reaching over, she offered it to the small shape lying beside her.

They waited in the dappled light under the trees as the sound of the river hurrying past was interspersed by little gulping noises. After a while Glorfindel realised he was too fascinated to even be bothered by the smells anymore: blood and urine and what he assumed was vomit.

Erestor finally said in the same calm voice as before, “What happened? Who hurt you? This wasn’t us, was it? Elves?”

“Those aren’t elf arrows, Ery.”

“No elf.”  The voice was gruff, low pitched and not clear but they could understand her. “Coldlands Clan. Want eat…” she used a word Erestor seemed not to know, but then indicated the child huddled beside her.

“The other orc clan wanted to eat her baby,” Erestor said, though Glorfindel was already nodding.

“And she fought them,” he agreed, moving closer. “You fought with them? And they shot you?”

“Kill one. Kill more one. They shoot arrows. Take small one, not leave for eating.” She became more animated, leaning up to describe this, but fell back with a groan when she finished speaking. “Jump river.”

He saw Erestor shiver, felt the same chill. “How long…?”

The orc made a strange sound that he thought might be a laugh. “Burning light come up, go down, come up...”

“Several days, the boys said,” he reminded Erestor. “What about the baby, the small one? What has it eaten?”

The orc shook her head and Erestor translated for her. She reached up, tugged a leaf free. “Green things. Soon Eklach sleep last sleep. Then there be meat.”

Erestor got to his feet. “There will be nothing about last sleeps, Eklach. I am fetching a healer. That baby needs a mother caring for it, not a bunch of elves.”

“No. Other go, yellow hair.” The orc reached out towards him, trying to stop him, and dropped the flask. Erestor sighed, leaned down, picked it up.

“Still water in it. No, he’ll stay here. His name is Glorfindel and if you need more water or someone to help you move, he’s more use than I would be.”

Eklach turned painfully onto her side. “Not hurt.” She lifted the baby with her good arm while she spoke and let it crawl over her despite the pain. It stayed close to her, looking at the strangers with dull eyes as it sat between her and Erestor. After a few moments it, too, lay down. It was small and skinny, probably less than a year old, with pale grey-green skin and very little clothing. She said something in the black speech directly to Erestor.

Erestor listened, then nodded gravely. At Glorfindel’s questioning glance, he replied, “She said she trusts us. We seem to be good elves.”

Glorfindel shrugged, it was all moving too fast for him. He had been ready to make a good argument for them both going rather than leave Erestor alone with an orc, even a badly wounded maternal one. But putting the child she had risked her life for in harm’s way was more than a gesture of trust, it was a promise. “Hard to argue with that. Suppose you’d better go get Elrond. Has it occurred to you that this is all completely insane?”

“Life is completely insane. I’m regularly surprised I’ve survived this long. Of course you’ve done it twice… Just – take care. Maybe get some more water?” he added, holding out the flask.

Glorfindel took it and turned it in his hands. “What in the name of the Void will you tell Elrond anyhow? Come quick, we have a wounded orc we’d like you to look at?”

Erestor gave him the sunny smile that usually meant trouble. “Well yes, exactly that. The truth, you know. He’s a healer. They’re meant to heal indiscriminately. All living things. She’s alive. We’re keeping her that way.”

-----o

“My lord?”

Elrond had spent the best part of the afternoon making up an ointment he chose not to trust to other hands, an old recipe he had been given by a Nandor wisewoman who knew things about healing no mere half-elven Noldo had even thought of. He was tired but satisfied with his work and looking forward to putting his feet up and having a mug of beer. So when Erestor came up to him leading a horse and looking determined, it was only fair that his heart should sink a little.

“Erestor. What can I do for you?”

Erestor hesitated, which was unlike him. He usually went bluntly to the heart of a matter unless diplomacy was a current job requirement. “Do you have a little time to spare? Perhaps – an hour?”

Elrond’s eyebrows rose perceptibly. “An hour? Not a small thing then.”

Erestor bit his lip and looked thoughtful.

“Don’t try the bashful virgin look with me, Erestor. I’ve known you too long. What have you done?”

“Gods, really? That’s offensive to virgins, isn’t it?” Erestor got a tighter hold on the horse’s bridle as two dogs came tearing past barking at nothing. “We need a little help. You might want to bring some basic first aid equipment.”

Elrond was instantly alert. “First aid? Is Glorfindel hurt. What happened?”

“Oh no,” Erestor said with a smile of surpassing innocence, “he’s perfectly all right, or was when I left him. No, it’s the orc.”

“Orc?” Elrond waited, assuming a logical explanation, and received one.

“Orc yes. The one we found. She’s badly hurt and needs a healer – and there is no better healer in all of Middle-earth. I got them to saddle a horse for you. We need to be quick, she’s been lying there for days.”

-----o

Glorfindel sat with his back against a gnarl of tree roots, the orc baby beside him, wrapped in his cloak. The orc lay where she had been earlier, but with her head now slightly raised, resting on the bag that had contained their lunch. He concealed a sigh of relief when Elrond and Erestor entered the clearing. “I heard the horses and told her it was you and the healer,” he said. “I’m not sure she believed me but she’s taking a chance on us.”

“I doubt there were many other options,” Elrond said dryly. Erestor, standing behind him, raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel in a glance that also took in the child.

“We’ve been fine,” he said to the unasked question. “It’s cold in the shade so I wrapped the baby – it’s weak, there’s been no water or proper food for days – and I tried to get her more comfortable, but I’m not a healer. I worried about making it worse?”

He directed the last to Elrond who was sizing up the situation and frowning. “No, no that was quite right, especially as Erestor tells me she fell or jumped off the cliff. Will it be all right for me to examine her?”

Glorfindel gave Elrond his due, he took being a healer seriously.  Which was why he was such a good one. “I’ve tried to explain, but I don’t know how much she understood. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

Erestor cut through the discussion by coming over, dropping down on one knee, and saying clearly, “Eklach, I know you’re in pain and this is very difficult and confusing, but I promised you we would help. This is Elrond, lord of this valley and a great healer. If you’ll let him, he will try and help you.” He added more at the end in the Black Speech, and Glorfindel had the satisfaction of seeing Elrond blink.

“If I might?” Elrond said with a touch of heavy irony, a hand on Erestor’s shoulder. He also knelt beside Eklach, not touching her. “My name is Elrond and I heal the sick and hurt. The fact that you are an orc and I an elf is not important to me. That you are hurt, and that you have a young child to care for – these things matter. Now lie still, be calm, and let me examine your injuries. I will warn you if any of that is about to be unpleasant.”

Something in the calm of his voice or the air of authority that surrounded him seemed to reach her and she relaxed slightly but kept one eye on the baby. Erestor sat down quietly next to Glorfindel so he could get a better look at the blue-wrapped bundle while Elrond began running his hands carefully over obvious and less obvious wounds.

“Multiple puncture wounds. These arrows have to come out, but none of them has penetrated too deeply or struck anything vital. There is a good deal of bruising – I think. Hard to tell with your colouring, Eklach.  Left leg is broken, and shoulder is dislocated… I can fix that, but it will be painful and this might not be a good moment. A great many cuts and abrasions.  I need to work somewhere better lit than this,” he added crossly.

“I wanted to get her better situated, but the light bothers them,” Glorfindel said. “They’re not comfortable in daylight.”

“Forgot, yes.’ Elrond sat on his heels and considered Eklach thoughtfully. She looked back at him, seeming less tense now, but spared the baby a worried glance as it whimpered. Glorfindel started stroking its head with gentle fingers. She studied this for a moment and then seemed to decide it was non-threatening. She tried to move onto her side, but it proved painful and after a few groans she stopped.

“What are we going to do?” Erestor asked finally.

“Well, we’ll need to get her down from here, clearly,” Elrond said. He was off in one of those healer’s assessing states, deciding what needed to be done and how. “And find somewhere to treat her. I’m not sure the infirmary would work right now.”

“I can see that being a bit of an upset,” Glorfindel grinned. “You’d have trainees running for home. No reason to that I can see, but people are like that with the unknown.”

“There’d be a storeroom or something over the way at the Edain community,” Erestor suggested. “Or we can find something on the outskirts of the village below the House. Whichever’s more convenient for you I suppose. Either way, she’ll need to be carried, won’t she?”

“Can’t walk, no,” Elrond said, getting to his feet. “Out of the question. Well it’s no use you trying to talk anyone into this. I’ll have to organise a litter and bearers myself while you find somewhere dry and comfortable.”

“Who, me?” Erestor asked, startled.

“You’re my senior councillor, aren’t you? You claim to know every inch of the valley. Of course you.”

In his no-nonsense healer’s voice, he said to the orc, “And you need to lie still, Eklach. I don’t want you driving those arrows in any further, right? Just a little patience, we’ll soon have you somewhere I can draw them out.”

Glorfindel wondered if the healing sleep that was used on elves who needed arrows removed or bones set worked on orcs. He assumed they would soon find out.

-----o

Erestor followed Elrond after making sure Eklach had enough water and was warm – she seemed confused by the question, which reminded Glorfindel how little they knew of the way orcs lived. Dirty and ugly and dangerous was the general consensus on the matter. Eklach was hardly clean and he had no doubt she could be dangerous, but he wasn’t sure he would call her ugly. A better choice would be different, and Glorfindel had never feared difference.

She was restless when Erestor left, moving around in the hollow she had made for herself and grunting softly with the effort. Eventually she lay still. The baby started to whimper and Glorfindel cautiously picked it up. About six months old, or maybe a bit  more, he thought, considering things like weight and physical control. It could sit unaided and crawl but was very weak from the diet of leaves and lack of water. Each time he touched the child, it closed its eyes as though waiting for a blow. On reflection he kept touching, hoping that familiarity would drive out fear. He hadn’t noticed any injury but had been reluctant to check with Eklach’s dark eyes fixed on him.

She was watching him now. As the whimpers started growing towards full-blown howls, he went over to put the child down beside her and found himself closer than he had intended. Some part of him still expected a hand to come up and grab him, which was ridiculous as even if she had, she was wounded and he was more than able to fend for himself. He was definitely getting used to the odour, that or his nose was refusing to register it.

“Girl baby? Boy baby?” he asked, curious. There was no way of finding out how old. When she looked confused, he pointed to her and then himself, miming the question.

“Like Eklach,” she said, gathering the child closer to her. It settled against her with a tired squeak. “Same.”

“Nothing will hurt her here,” he promised. “Nothing will hurt either of you. No one that comes here in need of help is sent away. You didn’t plan it that way, but it’s how it turned out…”

He stopped, realising he was talking past her skill with the language. She looked up from the child, hesitated. “Fae-people hate orc, always kill orc.”

Glorfindel had a momentary vision of the hordes pouring over the city walls of Gondolin; amongst the wolves and balrogs and mortal followers had been orcs, many orcs, Morgoth’s disposable assault force, easy to replace. “I have killed orcs,” he told her evenly. “They were part of the army that burned my city. It was war. We fought. I – would not kill an orc I saw walking alone through the wild places. I never kill without reason, without something to protect.”

She shifted again painfully, trying not to snag the arrows protruding from her. “What city orcs burn?” she asked. “Was not here?”

He shook his head. “It was a long time ago, before the lands were broken and the sea covered them. Before you were born. It was called Ondolindë – the rock of singing waters.”

“Was a water like this?” She tried to point towards the river but let her hand drop. Her wrist was swollen, he wondered if it was broken. He realised she wanted to be distracted from the pain about which she had not once complained. For a moment he wondered at the suitability of telling an orc girl about the Hidden City that had fallen to, amongst others, her far kin, but prejudice had never sat well with him.

“No,” he said. “No river. Well there were some small ones but nothing like the Bruinen. It was up in the mountains far from here, there were white walls and many fountains and tall, slender towers….”