There was something about the formation of stones that the little grey horse would not pass. They had left the Forsaken Inn some days before, and were making progress too slowly for Turgur's satisfaction. Lindovor had insisted they go around the orc camps, and that meant picking their way through the rough gullies that nestled between the hills. It was slower, he admitted, but battles mean both delays and injury, and there was no time to indulge in the possibility. The rain did not help. And now, at the base of Weathertop, they had spied a body that was niether orc nor goblin.
Sir Turgur made no complaint, but Lindovor saw that his wound was giving him pain. More and more frequently the flask of strong Dalish liquor would make an appearance. Turgur reined in his horse and asked gruffly, "What now?"
"I do not know." replied Lindovor, dismounting and attempting to lead his mount across the rough terrain on foot. Then something laying among the rocks caught his eye. Dropping the reins and letting his horse stand where it would, he clambered down the rocks where the figure lay face down. Kneeling down, he gently turned the body.
"By the Valar...!" His face blanched. Under the blood and grime was the face of the little huntress who had brought him hides and shared a meal with him in Bree. Swiftly he ungloved his hand and put his fingers to the bruised neck. She yet lived!
Gently, very gently, he cradled her head in his hands, feeling whether the bones had suffered any harm. "She has dark hair," he thought. "I have never seen the colour of her hair..." He carefully turned her head to the side, brushing away the blood and grime from her ear. For a moment, he paused. "Ah...," he said softly, and continued his search for injuries.
Her legs were whole, as was one arm. The other was bent under her at a strange angle; most likely it was broken. Her breath was shallow but even. He slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her legs and, steadying his feet under him, lifted her in his arms. She weighed almost nothing. "Half-starved," he thought. Careful of his footing he made his way to where Turgur waited with the horses.
"She is alive," he called out "But we must find dry shelter and warmth...quickly"
"Who?" said Turgur, leaning forward in his saddle to better see Lindovor's sad burden. "Ah...," Sir Turgur's voice trailed to nothingness when he recognized Fairlain.
"Right..." Turgur held the reins of Lindovor's horse as Fairlain was carefully placed over the horse's back . Keeping one hand on the still form, Lindovor reached up and took the horse's lead from Sir Turgur's hands. Slowly they made their way out of the rocky ravine and to a sheltered alcove at the base of the hill. They had found their quarry before the time expected, but it gave their hearts no joy. What was needed now warmth, light and water.
