#yeah have some silm abo au while i'm at it

[lordgrimwing]

Awake

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 4, part of the Silm ABO series]

Glorfindel listened to the strange noises around him. Eyes shut and breath kept carefully even, he tried to get a sense of what was happening without alerting anyone to his wakefulness. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious this time, but the pain in his stomach was less distracting now. 

Last time, he woke up suddenly, yanked back to consciousness by a deep, aching pain splitting his belly open as though the mýrennedí still had her teeth in him. He had a hazy memory of someone trying to speak with him, followed by an unsuccessful attempt to escape out the mouth of the bizarre cave they were in. Whoever these people were, they were not pleased by his disappearance. 

The cave opening sat on the side of a sheer cliff dotted with many other openings of identical size and shape. The pain made climbing hard, and he had to slip inside one of the other caves to rest. Fearing he’d fall if he tried climbing the rest of the way down, he tested his luck in the rabbit warren-like caves instead, hoping they were all connected and he could reach the ground. 

He bumped into many strangely dressed elves as he went. They either stared at him in surprise or squawked like vibrantly colored, unintelligible birds. A few tried to stop him, but he avoided them easily and kept running.

The elf from the first cavern caught up to him at about the same time he realized he’d started bleeding from the healing gashes in his stomach. He wasn’t steady on his feet by that point, stumbling down the passage with more than running, and the elf easily grabbed him. Everything was very confused after that, but they must have gotten back to where he started somehow. 

That brought him back to the present: still unable to make sense of what was going on but feeling less like he was crawling toward the flaming chasm of death—so that was good.

“You are awake?” Someone asked from near his head.

Well, pretending to sleep wasn’t working. It was time to figure out where he was and what happened. He opened his eyes.

The elf from earlier was gone, replaced by one of the strangers the mýrennedí tried eating. He recognized this one from the days he spent watching their camp before the attack, assessing if they were a threat to his people or just part of a strange tribe passing through. Quenhó, he’d named this one, because his odd appearance was reminiscent of images conjured up by the angoldos’ tales of lost spirits. He had been interesting to watch: he appeared to be some kind of healer, like an angoldo, as others in the group came to him when they were hurt.

Quenhó repeated the question, words spoken with the tone of someone who was trying to speak clearly after eating many fermented mesquite bean pods. “You are awake?”

Glorfindel blinked. “Yes.” His mouth felt dry.

“You are safe,” Quenhó said in very simple words, tongue stumbling.

Was he just learning to speak? Perhaps he actually was a lost spirit.

“Do not run again. You are hurt.” Quenhó pointed at his own stomach, hidden under layers of enough stifling fabric to make a sizable traveling tent, then down at Glorfindel’s while making a pained expression with his odd face.

Glorfindel agreed with the limited explanation. “Yes,” he said. “That is usually what happens to people who are caught by a mýrennedí. I’m lucky she didn’t kill me.” 

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he should have died. The fight took place far away from his people (though he’d watched the strangers long enough to know that they knew where his people lived, that they were specifically watching his people). Even if he had survived the journey back to be cared for by an angoldo, he’d seen though wounds like this to know a burning fire should have grown within him by the third day and finished what the large cat started.

Quenhó looked at him, his face twisted into an indecipherable mask. “You are hurt,” he repeated. “I am helping you.”

Glorfindel tilted his head against the thick, soft mat he was laying on. “Where am I?” He asked. “I’ve never seen caves like this. Do your people make caves like hares dig tunnels?”

“You are hurt.” This time, a hint of pleading entered the words.

Quenhó, whoever and whatever he was, had no idea what Glorfindel was saying.