#fictober22 where its Wulfwryn's turn to be stressed for Raenor

[captainderyn]

[Fictober] 17. “Are you serious?”

Prompt: 17. “Are you serious?”

Genre: Fanfiction (LOTRO)

Rating: T

Pairing: Raenor/Wulfwryn

CW: Mentions/description of injury

Summary: On the snowy plains of the Misty Mountains a fight goes wrong, leaving Wulfwryn to deal with the consequences.

--

They were surrounded. 

All over the snowy plain goblins and wargs raced towards them, flitting in and out of view in the blizzarding snow. 

Though her ears rang from the roaring incantations Raenor threw at the encroaching enemies she could still make out the cackling of the goblins and the low, throaty snarls of the wargs. 

She hadn’t seen monstrous creatures such as these since the North Downs and Lone-Lands. Long before she’d come to know Raenor’s shoulder pressed into her back or the familiar way they worked in tandem like dancers on a stage. 

She slammed her shield into a goblin, tossing it back into the snow. Her sword flashed in a deadly arc, and she yanked it back with a rattling gasp. 

They’d been fighting for what seemed like forever, inching closer and closer to the snowy edge of a gully. The goblins were pushing them back towards the foothills of the mountains, hoping to back them into the corner. 

“Wulfwryn!” Raenor shouted over the shuffling footfalls of the enemy, “When you say you love me, are you serious?” 

When she said…Wulfwryn bashed her shield into the nose of a warg, sending it skittering back with a yelp. A well aimed blow felled that creature too, only for another well on its way to taking its vacancy.

“Now is not really the time!” she snapped back. 

Raenor’s voice took a manic edge to it, “Answer me.”

The force in his usually soft, even voice shocked the words from her throat: “Of course I mean it!” 

    If she were facing him, and his back were not pressed against hers instead, she would’ve seen a grim smile grace his face. 

    A weight slammed into her back, sending her toppling forward. 

    Her face wet the snow in a burst of freezing and sharp pain, all breath leaving her body as she was sent rolling by a second force slamming into her side. 

    A shadow flew above her, a ragged cry with it. 

    Her vision went red even before she was on her knees, then scrambling to her feet. The snow slid her feet from under her, sending her down again in a flurry of powdered snow and razor sharp ice. 

    “Raenor!” she roared, even as the snow still blinded her. 

    She could see just enough, the red path trailing over the edge of the gully. The snarling of a warg warning goblins from its prey. 

    Her sword knew no mercy as she careened over the edge of the gully, the few foot drop buckling her knees. The warg gave a mighty yelp, snapping at her, but its ferocity could not match the feral rage that set fire to her blood. 

    In the far distance a horn blew, sending the goblins amassing at the top of the gully skittering back towards their masters. 

    Wulfwryn discarded her sword, threw aside her shield. 

    “No, no, you idiot.” she hit the ground beside Raenor, warrior’s hands--not healer’s hands--hovering over the tattered fabric of his tunic.

    No elven fabric, made for light battle, could withstand the sharp bite of a warg’s teeth or their sheer jaw strength. Neat punctures lined across his chest and over his shoulder. 

    Did goblins lace their wargs with poison as they did their blades? She’d never heard of it, but she’d learned long ago never to discount any possibility. 

    Her head went light at the wounds. 

    Elves bled as red as men. 

    “Raenor.” She snarled, ripping her cloak from her shoulders and pressing it tightly to his chest and shoulder. Blood trailed from his temple, no doubt from the dragging fal, “You stupid, stupid elf, what do you think you’re doing?” 

    She cast around for any sign of…something, she didn’t know what. 

    This snowy plain was far from any of the dwarven camps, and they would not be equipped to handle this. 

    He certainly wouldn’t bleed out, of that much her rudimentary skills could tell her, but there were far more sinister things they came from wargish wounds. Their bites were nasty, prone to all manner of festering issues. 

    “Stupid, stupid elf.” She repeated under her breath before sucking a deep breath in. She did her best to imitate the whistle the elves had taught her for their mounts. They’d left the horses forging for sprouts beneath the snow cover before they’d stepped foot on the plain. She prayed the fighting hadn’t scared them back to the camp. 

    She tugged Raenor off the snow and half onto her lap, brushing the snow from his hair. It was ridiculous, there were better things to worry about, but all she could think was how desperately he hated the feeling of clumped snow against the back of his neck. 

    “I’m going to kill you myself if you die on me.” she growled, “I might do it anyway.” 

    She whistled again and after several long moments a speckled gray horse appeared over the edge of the gully. She would have cried. 

    The horse perched at the edge of the gully, head overhanging and gave a loud snort. 

    Wulfwryn extended her hand, “Please.” she’d never begged a horse before, “Please, we need you.” 

    With another bellowing snort the horse eased its way down the hill, slipping and sliding until halting beside Wulfwryn. It sniffed at her hair before dropping its head to whuffle at Raenor’s cheek. 

    It seemed to know who its real kin was. 

    She pushed her freezing muscles to standing, pulling Raenor up with her. He groaned, his weight lolling into her side. 

    The stories always said elven horses were far more intelligent than they should be, but Wulfwryn witnessed it before her eyes as the horse eased itself down onto its knees. Enough so that Wulfwryn could pull Raenor on and scramble up herself. 

    She caressed the horse’s neck when it scrambled to its feet, “Thank you.” she murmured, before looking into the swirling snow. She didn’t know if the horses understood the common tongue, or if it understood speech at all, “What is it your people say? Niro Lim, to Rivendell.” 

    The horse gathered like a spring beneath her, leaping up the embankment. It dug its hooves into the snow and ran like it was made of wind itself.