Gone-dalf?

        Elliott kept following the river until nightfall, then decided it was too risky to light a fire. Especially with how he was covered in blood. From the numerous small cuts over his skin, not anything else. So he found a tree and recalled a hazy memory of doing that before, some time. When? He had no clue. It didn't matter though. He took his hand off where it had been firmly planted over his right eye and grabbed the lowest branch, hauling himself up with shaky, tired arms. He curled up in the lowest branch, too tired and miserable to go any higher. 

        The next morning was a shitty one. Not because it was a bad day or anything; the weather was fine. He just felt like shit. His face hurt too much to ignore it and he had some weird dream about a place named Helm's Deep and tons of orcs, AND his trick of denial was getting old. He shook himself off. Denial about what? There was nothing to be in denial about.

        He just kept following the river until he came across a big forest. It felt magical, and some of his tention melted away. Only some though. Everything still sucked. With nothing else to do, he kept on walking along the riverbank like he had for the past day and a half. Head hanging, he walked until elves dropped from the trees, pointing bows at him.

        "Stop! State your intentions," ordered the leading elf, who had long blond-white hair and what looked to be a permanent frown. All Elliott had to do was look up and they all lowered their weapons. Hah. He was so powerful. Maybe it was because of how pretty his face was, because there was definitely nothing wrong with it.

      The lead elf cursed quietly. "Are you... Elliott?" he asked, eyebriws furrowing. Elliott nodded, then tilted his head. 

       "How did you know?"

       "The rest of your group passed this way and mentioned what you looked like. We couldn't get the four small ones to stop crying, though I suppose that's what happens when you lose two friends." Two!? Who the fuck!?!? Better not be Boromir. Or Aragorn. Or Legolas. Or Gimli, or Gandalf. The four small ones would be the hobbits, so they were fine. His heart started pounding.

        "Wh- uh, what do you mean, two?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing. His right eyebrow protested at that, so he winced and held a hand up to it. Sticky liquid coated his fingers, and he internally scoffed at his ability to get tears all over his face. Because thats what it was; tears. 

        The elf winced as well; "I should not have said that... Come, I will tell you later. For now we must clean your wounds and get you reunited with your group."

        Elliott nodded numbly and stumbled after him, mind racing. Okay, best case scenario it was Gimli. Look, he loved Gimli, he really did. But he hadn't spent much time around the dwarf or Gandalf, and out of the two of them, Gandalf was the most useful. He felt wrong, hoping it was Gimli. because he did like him. He always managed to make Elliott laugh when he wasn't feeling like it. But they'd probaboy all die without Gandalf and he liked the others too much. It wasn't that he wanted Gimli dead, it was just that he was much closer to the others.

        Still made him feel like an arsehole. Cut him some slack, he barely talked to the dwarf. And if Gimli was alive, he'd make sure to spend more time with him in the future.

        After the fourth tree he almost ran into, the elf held out a hand in an offer to lead Elliott. He didnt know why his depth perception was so off, because everything was fine with his eye, but he took the hand anyway. 

       Eventually they reached a spot in the river where they had to cross. This was, in true elvish fashion, a singular thin rope across the river. Elliott, being an elf himself, would have been fine if not for the lack of vision in his right eye, which would most definitely come back eventually. So they had to erect anther pair of ropes on the sides for him to hang on to as he ran across. 

        And then, after some more walking, they reached a city. It was large, beautiful all of those words, but the thing he was most focused on was the fellowship. They were all standing together, talking and looking morose.

        "HEY!" he called, letting go of the elf - Haldir, the elf had said awkwardly after realising half an hour in that he hadn't introduced himself - and running towards them. It was Legolas who noticed him first, turning around and raising his eyebrows with a shocked look on his face.

        "Elliott?!" he exclaimed, and the others turned to look as well. Elliott barrelled into the group, making a beeline for Boromir's warm embrace, and laughed. "You really thought I was dead?"

        Boromir hugged him back after a few stunned seconds. "Wha- yes! You fell into a chasm in the floor! And- Shit, you're covered in blood! Your face!" he cupped Elliott's left cheek, moving his head to examine his face. 

        "What happened, lad?" asked Gimli, which set off a barrage of other questions. His ears hurt trying to listen to them all, so he didn't, and instead counted the group. Gandalf was the only one missing. Pity. He felt bad for being relieved that it wasn't someone he cared more about, but he couldn't deny that he didn't know Gandalf very well, so he was less upset than some of the others.

        Aragorn placed a hand on Elliott's shoulder and Legolas rushed off to ask for a healer, though that was unnecessary since Haldir had already done so. "Come on, let the boy get his wounds cleaned and bandaged before interrogation," he said, and led Elliott away. Boromir came running after, looking worried. "But don't get me wrong - there will be an interrogation," said Aragorn sternly, but the stern tone of his voice was tempered by a relieved softness.

        Elliott wasn't looking forward to that, but he was just glad to be back with his friends.