The sound of the approaching orc raiding party grew louder, the clamor of harsh voices and the thud of heavy boots. Thandir’s sharp eyes scanned the trees, calculating the distance and number of their foes. Without hesitation, he positioned himself between Aranion and the approaching threat, his bow already in hand.

  “Stay behind me,” Thandir ordered, his voice low and steady, though his heart was racing with the urgency of the moment.

  Aranion nodded, drawing his blade. He watched as Thandir took aim, his movements swift and sure. In one fluid motion, Thandir released an arrow that flew through the air with deadly precision, striking the leading orc squarely in the throat. The creature fell with a guttural cry, and chaos erupted as the rest of the orc band charged forward.

  Thandir’s bow sang again and again, each arrow finding its mark. Several orcs fell before they even had the chance to close the distance. But the raiding party was large, and despite the Elves’ skill, the orcs pressed on with savage determination.

  When the orcs drew near, Thandir slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword in a flash of silver. Aranion stood beside him, his own blade ready. The two Elves faced the oncoming horde together, their movements graceful and deadly.

  The first orc lunged at Thandir, but he sidestepped with ease, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc that cleaved the orc’s weapon in two. Without pausing, Thandir pivoted and struck another orc with a quick, decisive blow. Aranion parried a blow from an orc to his left, then spun around to slash at another that approached from the right. The Elves fought with the fluidity and precision of seasoned warriors, their blades dancing through the air as they cut down the orcs one by one.

  But the orcs were relentless, driven by a savage fury that made them dangerous even in the face of certain death. Aranion felt a sharp pain as an orc’s blade grazed his side, tearing through his tunic and biting into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he fought on.

  Thandir noticed the wound and fought with renewed vigor, determined to protect Aranion at all costs. The battle was fierce, but the Elves’ skill and determination won out. Soon, the last of the orcs fell, its guttural death cry echoing through the trees.

  As the final orc collapsed to the ground, Thandir’s eyes quickly sought out Aranion. He saw the blood staining his companion’s side and rushed to his aid, his heart heavy with guilt.

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  “Aranion!” Thandir knelt beside him, his hands moving quickly to assess the wound. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s not deep,” Aranion replied, though his voice was strained with pain. “I’ll manage.”

  But Thandir was not so easily reassured. He carefully peeled back the fabric of Aranion’s tunic to inspect the wound. It was a jagged cut, bleeding steadily, and Thandir knew that without proper treatment, it could become dangerous.

  “We must tend to this now,” Thandir said, his tone brooking no argument. He reached into Aranion’s pack and retrieved the healing herbs that had been stored there. His hands worked quickly, crushing the herbs and applying them to the wound, binding it with strips of cloth torn from his own cloak.

  Aranion winced but did not protest. He could see the worry etched in Thandir’s face, a worry that went beyond the simple concern of a comrade-in-arms.

  Thandir finished the makeshift dressing and helped Aranion to his feet. “We need to get you to Lothlórien,” he said, his voice tight with the weight of responsibility. “Your healers should know how to treat this properly.”

  Aranion nodded, grateful for Thandir’s help but sensing the self-reproach that lingered in his companion’s eyes. “You saved me, Thandir,” he said, placing a hand on the guardian’s shoulder. “We fought together, and we prevailed.”

  But Thandir shook his head, the guilt still gnawing at him. “I let my guard down. I should have been more vigilant. This wound is on me.”

  “There’s no blame here,” Aranion insisted, his voice firm despite the pain. “We’re both alive, and we’ve won this battle. That is what matters.”

  Thandir’s eyes softened, though the guilt did not entirely leave him. He nodded, helping Aranion steady himself as they prepared to continue their journey. They moved quickly, the urgency of Aranion’s wound spurring them onward.

  The remaining journey southward along the Anduin was swift and silent, the Elves moving with purpose despite the burden of the injury. Eventually, the landscape opened up before them, the golden light of Lothlórien on the horizon.

  Days passed in a blur of travel and brief, necessary rests. Thandir’s focus never wavered, his thoughts consumed by the need to get Aranion to the healers in Caras Galadhon. They moved quickly, yet with care, knowing that haste was needed but that further injury would only delay them.

  Finally, as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, they reached the edge of Caras Galadhon. The towering mallorn trees stood like silent sentinels, their silver leaves shimmering in the early morning light. The sight brought a wave of relief over Thandir, though his concern for Aranion still weighed heavily on him.

  “We’re here,” Thandir said softly, guiding Aranion toward the gates of the city. “You’ll be safe now.”