Bloodstained Elanor RPG

[Orofaniel]

As the day grew on, Herding expected that Koran and his small force would return soon. He didn't expect any great loss, neither Orcs nor Southrons. However, one never knew when it came to elven warriors. Herding hoped that Koran would have been exposed for great danger, and hopefully gotten a few scratches or so – in other words: hoped that Koran would return just merely defeated. Herding smiled evilly as he scouted towards the hills. The green field that lay between was still filled with tents and soldiers, both Orcs and Men. The noise wasn't as loud as it had been earlier. He expected it was caused by the tension and the waiting; everyone waited for Koran and his force to return.

Suddenly an Orc soldier came running down one of the slopes. He cried as he held his hands up in the air. "Fool," Herding muttered and tried to hear what message the Orc brought with him. Yet it couldn't quite reach him. He could see that the Orc caused great joy and also confusion among the soldiers.

"Th....back...wi....elves....."

"What?" Herding asked himself. The cry from the Orc was still unclear, part of it because of the long distance and because of his unclear voice.

"They're back...with elves!!!"

Herding gazed as he hear this. Koran and the small force were coming back to the camp, they were just behind the hill there- and they had captivities; Elves. Herding scouted again; he could now see a couple of Southrons in the front, leading a small force with Orcs. The captivities were among the small army. One part of the Captain was delighted by the news, but another part of him was disappointed and even grumpy about it. He didn't want Koran to succeed, and now he had. He had indeed succeeded, as he had brought his enemies back as captivities. Herding let out a short sigh as he saw even clearer the small troop that had entered the field, to the Orc's joy. The troop entered the field feeling great victory, that wasn't hard to see. Some were holding their swords high above their heads, while others cried out for victory.

Herding then, followed by some of his soldiers, walked down to the field. He eyed Koran straight away. Koran was in the front together with that little boy he had brought to Herding's tent the other day. Herding frowned as he greeted them. ”Captain Cenbryt," Herding said and nodded. "Captain Herding," he answered politely.

After that, Herding moved along the small troop. Some bloodstains here and there, and a few scratches were the first thing Herding saw. None were much injured, and those who were had already left the troop position and headed for their tents. "Any great loss?" Herding asked after a moment, looking at Koran. "Uh, we didn't bother to count them," he said flatly. Herding smiled; what and attitude, he thought with great pleasure. Could he really start to like this young lad? However, Herding could see that a great deal of Orcs had been left behind, either to die -or they were already dead. Most probably the last option.

"Any great surprises?" Herding then asked, facing Koran once again. He hoped that the elves would have been fighting like heroes and that Koran would have admitted it. However, no such answer came; ”No, we did fine," he said and smiled weakly, looking at Ehan - for that was indeed the name of the soldier standing next to him.

"Good....goood," Herding said, without really meaning it, as he straightened hi back. "So, what did you bring with you?" Herding said as he looked in the direction where the captivities were held. "Elves. My small troop captured some elves. We thought maybe they'd come in handy, sir," Koran said, he also looking at the captivities. "Alright," Herding said, trying not to seem too delighted over the news. He didn't want Koran to get too pleased with himself. "Someone bring them to the free tent and tie 'em up- I see that some haven't tied them up properly," he continued, looking at Koran as if he was the one who didn't tie the captivities well enough.

Soon a handful of Orcs were dragging the elves towards the tent. "You," Herding said and pointed at one of the Southroons in the troop. "Take two men with you and follow the Orcs into the tent: I don't want the Orcs to put our captivities in such a bad shape that they're no good afterwards" Herding said sternly. He knew very well what hungry and stupid Orcs were capable of doing. The southrons didn't need to be told that twice as they were off immediately.

"Captain Cenbryt and Captain Thrakmazh," Herding then said looking at both of them. "I think we need to discuss what to do about those filthy elves, don’t you think?" He then continued, smiling evilly. "Aye," Thrakmazh said and followed herding and Koran up to Herding's tent.

As they approached the tent, Herding told the soldiers to shove up, as this was a conversation only for the Captains.

"Shouldn’t we just kill 'em off?" The orc asked immediately. Koran looked at him with great disgust. "Sir, we've got valuable elves at hand. Let’s use them. Lets get all the information we need out of them," he said and took a deep breath. "We’ll torture them for a while...." Herding then interrupted. This was no big surprise as everyone knew how much this Captain loves torturing his enemies. His huge evil grin that surrounded his face couldn't mean anything but just that.

The Orc nodded carefully. Koran however seemed a bit more insecure about this so called plan. "I doubt they'll ever give us any information - if they even have valuable information," Koran said after a while, looking at Herding. Herding met him with stern eyes. "And why do you say that? You've already had a small chat with them, haven’t you?" he said with a great deal of sarcasm. He didn't like Koran's tone. "Oh, no, sir," Koran started. "I would never do that," he said sharply.

Neither Koran nor Herding said anything for a while, as they both knew they'd just get annoyed by each other. So instead, they let the Orc speak; "Elves never reveal anything," he stated. "It's no point wasting time on them," he continued. Herding thought about this and it all seemed reasonable. However, what were they supposed to do with them then? He wondered. "We'll kill 'em," the Orc said, getting up from his seat. His clenched teeth showed that he was ready to see some eleven blood. "No, let’s not do anything to hurriedly," Herding said, pushing the Orc back into his seat. Thrakmazh was obviously disappointed by this. "Why not send them to Dol Guldur?" Herding suggested. Koran looked at him, but said naught. Thrakmazh was pondering on this for a moment, but he agreed. "Captain Cenbryt?" Herding asked. Koran looked up. Herding wasn’t sure if he was too willing to send the captivities that he had taken captive back to Dol Guldur, but since there were two against him he just had to agree.

"Then it's settled," Herding said feeling good about himself. He wasn’t sure however if this really was the best plan, but they didn’t have any other. This just had to work.

Herding lifted his hand as a sign that the two other Captans were to follow him, and so they did. They left Herding's camp, still wearing their armour and weapons. They walked steadily down the slope down to the field. As they approached the then where the captivities where held they saw all the Orcs that had gathered around it.

"Move!" Thrakmazh yelled. The Orcs moved quickly when they saw that it was their Captain who yelled. Herding, Koran and Thrakmazh was now walking on a narrow path between to huge crowds of Orcs that led into the tent.

The smell of rotten, maybe blood, met the three Captains. Herding let out a small cough as he felt the horrible stank. Koran and Thrakmazh weren't too pleased about the smell either, or so it seemed. The Orcs were watching each captive, but since they were now well tied up, their job wasn't difficult. The Southrons slowly followed each and every Orc with their eyes.

"In what state..." Herding didn't get to finish his sentence before the southron interrupted;” They’re aright, I expect. The Orc haven't touched them, or at least done any big damage to them, sir," he said and nodded. "But from the battle? Well, I expect they have a few scratches and maybe some broken limbs...But I'm not sure," he continued. "You said we weren't supposed to touch them, so we didn't, sir.." he said after a moment when he noticed the way the Captain was looking at him. "Indeed I did. It seems you have done a good job," Herding said. The Southron's face was suddenly encouraged by Herding's words, and he smiled broadly. "Well, you may leave the tent now," Herding said and waved him off. The southron looked confused; ”But, Captain sir, aren't we going to...do anything with them?" he asked as he pointed at one of the elves, who were lay on the ground.

"We'll be sending them to Dol Guldur," Koran interrupted. "Thank you Captain Cenbryt," Herding said harshly; "Although, I'm most capable of explaining the situation to this Man here myself," he continued. Herding couldn't help feeling annoyed wherever Koran was around. And certainly didn't he like that Koran interrupted his conversation with the Southron, as it was after all his soldier.

Herding then went to look at the captivities, followed closely by Thrakmazh.

"You!" the elf that lay nearest cried and pointed at Thrakmazh. Herding couldn't see his face properly as the elf's face down towards the floor. Thrakmazh grunted and looked at the elf with great disgust. Herding couldn't help himself, so he let out a short laugh. The elf's face moved up from the ground. It seemed as Thrakmazh had met him before, probably on the battle field Herding figured. "Hold your mouth shut, or you will regret it you filthy elf," Thrakmazh growled as he kicked the elf in his back. A short exclamation was all they heard before the elf passed out; probably cause by his small injuries and of the exhaustion.

"Captain Thrakmazh, you don't want to be too hard on 'em," herding said teasingly while his smile covered most of his face. Herding didn’t mind, at all, that Thrakmazh treated the elves like this. Thrakmazh laughed, but Herding thought it sounded more like a growl. "Now, Thrakmazh, do you have any faithful Orcs that will lead these captivities to Dol Guldur?" Herding said, although he was of that opinion that there wasn't such a thing as "faithful" Orcs.

"Indeed," Thrakmazh started, although he didn't get the time to continue as Herding interrupted; "Well, find one. Quickly."

Koran, who had been walking alone in the tent, looking at the captivities, had now approached them. "An Orc? Is an Orc going to lead the captivities to Dol Guldur, captain Herding?" he asked, sounding more or less rather suspicious. "Indeed, so I thought," he snapped. "Or, Captain Cenbryt; do you not find this a good idea?" he asked him, while following Thrakmazh with his eyes, hoping to see some sort of reaction if Koran said no. Koran didn't dare look at the Orc Captain as he answered; "An Orc will do." Herding gloated. He could see that this had caused great anger with Koran, and Herding didn't wish for anything more than just that.

"I expect, Thrakmazh, that the Orc that will be leading them and the rest of the company- if that is what you wish to call it- is ready by dawn," Herding said, with the slight of arrogance. No more words were spoken as all the three Captains left the tent. Herding watched Koran walking back to his own, while Thrakmazh went back to the Orcs, hopefully trying to find that “faithful” Orc.

[Kransha]

Of course, the task of choosing an orc to lead the escort force of the captives fell to Thrákmazh. He didn’t mind at this point, though, for he knew only one uruk suitable for the vile, monotonous job. The only orc besides Urkrásh who he trusted would be chosen, a boor called Gâshronk, one-eyed like himself, possibly from self-dismemberment in the past, Thrákmazh did not know. The wretch, like all too many others, aspired to be the spitting image of his captain, but in a way more obsessive than most. Thrákmazh knew that, if any orc would try truthfully to do his bidding, it would certainly be he. So, he quickly singled out the unimposing creature who was milling, along with all other orcs, about in the makeshift camp in which they now lived.

“Gâshronk!” he cried, and saw the orc’s face and one eye light up effervescently, which was a ghastly sight in itself. He growled silently and went on, letting the orcs move aside to let Gâshronk march confidently out to greet and obey his commander. “You are a brave orc, and a mighty one. You shall lead the prisoners, with orcs under your command, back to Dol Guldur. Ready your men, but leave the captives until the time of your departure.” The orc continued looking at him, with a slack-jawed grin upon his toothsome, scarred face, and nodded vigorously. “Yes, Captain Thrákmazh.”

Thrákmazh nodded as the orc obediently turned and began to, inevitably, take his assignment far too seriously. Thrákmazh quickly headed back, for he had an ulterior motive, and made his way towards the tent of Captain Herding. He passed orcs reveling, orcs gambling, orcs drinking, orcs fighting, and wicked men doing roughly the same, but ignored them just as they ignored him, letting the sky’s darkening cloak relax his sharpened nerves. Soon he had located the tent, where he’d been before, and brusquely shoved open the tent flap to see Herding pacing from end to end within. The captain looked at him only for a moment before continuing his pacing. Thrákmazh took two minute steps inside.

“Southron, the ‘faithful orc’ has been chosen.” Thrákmazh growled as he repeated Herding’s words sardonically. Herding only turned to glare at him with two good eyes to rival Thrákmazh’s one. The orc looked back, feigning pleasantry again with a bare, toothy smile set onto his face grotesquely. Herding grimaced and turned away, gesturing for the orc to leave swiftly, if not sooner. “Good, fine. Now, get out.”

Thrákmazh grinned in earnest at this, having anticipated the response. He knew men better then he’d thought he would, for they were predictable savages, the same mindless brutes that orcs so often were. But, in the Captain, he did see an uncomfortable portrait of himself removed from the more barbaric ways to which he was accustomed. It was odd, to Thrákmazh, to see this man, with his back to him, thinking in such a similar fashion. A disgusting fool and idolater like Gâshronk was different in so many ways from this mortal being, for orcs such as Gâshronk were no more than petty followers. Herding was, in his own dark way, a leader, as Thrákmazh had been for a century or more. Doubtless Thrákmazh knew the trade better, but he could still sense the withered connecting cord between him and his juxtaposed ally. It was stranger still that he saw no orc when looking on Herding, but a man more like a man than ever he had seen. Elves were his polar opposite, their radiance as dazzling as his putrid sourness was grim, their swift and delicate grace as boorish as he grandiose might. But, men where like both elves and orcs, for they bore light and darkness. This man, though, had more the latter by far, and it was apparent in nearly everything he did.

“Herding,” he began quietly, moving with surprising grace, like a hovering shadow, towards the Southron, “…The Eye does not need all the elves.” Herding turned his head only merely, his eyebrow raising in question, but he still looked with simple dimness at the orc, probably dismissing his words as a barbarian creature’s idiocies, “…my men have seen victory this day, but they have lost many…Their morale is still low…they need that morale renewed.” At this, Herding turned his head away again, heading incredulously towards another corner of his low-roofed tent and pacing. “Get to the point.” He snapped suddenly, knocking Thrákmazh’s readied wit off guard with a louder, more concise phrase.

The point was, as it always was, the prolonging of pain for enemies. Thrákmazh wanted something, something more than he had. He had beheld the eldest elf swear vengeance, a possibly empty threat, but elves did not make empty threats. This elf would die in Dol Guldur, but he had made a grave mistake crossing Thrákmazh the Mighty. He would suffer more loss still, and a loss more painful to him. The orc’s fingers itched to wrap around the hilt of his new blade, a blade that was bane to so many orcs, and now would be to so many elves. It was a wondrous feeling, to hold that, but hurt him all the same. His thumb glided down the smooth hilt as he considered his words again and spoke, more commanding now but just as silent. “The female elf; let my troops have her. We have no need of so many captives.” He finished with a curt syllable which was lost in a throaty cough, but Herding heard it all the same. The Southron rounded on Thrákmazh angrily, but not angry at the orc. His anger stemmed from another source, he was merely venting his excess range.

“You’ve slain one already,” he bellowed, “is that not enough?”

“Not for me,” Thrákmazh retorted quickly, “for my men.”

“For the sake of some personal vendetta, no doubt.” Herding grumbled, turning away again. Soon after, he waved a hand as a gesture of negativity and refusal. “No, the female goes with the rest to Dol Guldur. Cenbryt will agree, so don’t bother seeking his pompous counsel.” Again, Thrákmazh grinned strangely, and Herding did not turn to see the expression. He knew the link, the link that caused Herding such pain and elicited such eternal anger. It was the young man, the other captain, surely! Yes, Thrákmazh did not waste love on that being either, and now he supposed that Herding bore even less. This was the key to enlisting a second captain’s aid. Like a swift shadow, Thrákmazh again flitted towards the captain, appearing mysteriously beside him, and lowered his voice to a fowl whisper.

“The boy…Cenbryt, he is weak. You know this. You are strong, for a man. You know he is a fool.”

Herding did not whirl on him as he had before, but Thrákmazh saw his fists clench suddenly. But, even though he most likely wished to state his agreement, he was too belligerent. Again, his rage was vented rather than revealed. “I could say the same for you, orc.” He shot back, his own hand beginning to move unconsciously towards his blade. Thrákmazh seemed to laugh, or cackle, or chuckle perhaps, but it was as horrible a sound as ever the Southron had heard. Soon it died, replaced by some gleeful sound of conspiracy as Thrákmazh moved yet closer, nearing Herding and looking, with his one, limpid, glassy eye at the man, where he found what he desired. “In your eyes,” he said, “when you look at him, I see fire…You want him dead.”

“And if I do?”

“He’s weak, a weak captain, and he speaks against us.”

“You agreed with him!” Herding spun now, his sword now out and, its glinting point hovering dangerously near the prime vein that pulsed on Thrákmazh’s throat, “You spoke with him and took his side!” The orc just smiled; a look unnerving to each captain, Herding to look at, and Thrákmazh to sustain. Thrákmazh backed up, with some caution, just to avoid Herding’s misplaced energy. “Because he is half-right.” He answered, somewhat ruefully, “He is a clever fool, but a fool nonetheless, and a thorn in both our sides. He wants the elves spared, he does, because he sees their blinding light and is infected by it. He serves the Eye, yes, but he is not loyal, not at all… He will betray us, betray us and the Dark Lord in his weakness!”

Herding glowered again, but was now settling, His next question, asked in more a rhetorical fashion, was calmed and the piercing point of his words dulled by understanding. “You think I don’t know that?” Thrákmazh looked to him, as if he was trying to comfort the angered man, but both knew that there was no notion of friendship. Hatred ran rampant between them, but they shared, in some respects, a common hatred of Koran Cenbryt. Thrákmazh’s one eye settled into its own watery foundation at last as he spoke, in the most meager whisper yet. “He is but a man, a mortal man…We can send the captives to Dol Guldur, revel in our victory, and go on, but he will still be a man…a man that can be killed.” Neither spoke and a very unsettled silence remained for several moments before Thrákmazh backed up, heading towards the entrance, and exit, to the tent. “Consider my words…I have business with the elves to be attended.” At this, he hurriedly moved out of the tent, leaving Herding to ponder the most intellectual thing he’d ever heard an orc say.

[Arry]

Had Gromwakh’s eyes not been so bulbous he might have rolled them skyward, and had he not the long ingrained lessons of the underling drubbed into him by countless of his ‘betters’, he might have sighed loudly and with derision. Instead, he chose to keep his opinions to himself and his eyes well cast down as the deep honking voice of their new leader laid out his commands. Snikdul, on the other hand, stood just behind his friend and kept a low, running commentary on the proceedings.

‘Full as a tick with himself, isn’t he?’ he whispered to Gromwakh. ‘Swaggering back and forth in front of us. Never mind he’s been brevetted . . . the ugly cock-a-whoop’s got no more rank than we do . . .’ Snikdul’s comments were cut off with a whoof of expulsed air as Gromwakh elbowed him sharply in the gut.

‘He doesn’t need to outrank us, you fool – he’s got a whip!’

Gâshronk paced before the twenty Orcs he’d chosen for his little expedition. In a loud voice that carried well beyond the troops standing in sullen rows quite near him he explained how he had been honored with the command for this important task. His one eye, Gromwakh noted, kept sliding over their heads, to the place where Thrákmazh stood, and his expression would change to one of barely concealed delight when the Uruk Captain glanced his way. They were to deliver the Elven captives to Dol Guldur along with their effects, keeping them unharmed . . . the effects or the captives? Grom wondered. Gâshronk looked just the sort to work over those who couldn’t get back at him.

As their Uruk leader passed by them. Growakh turned slightly to one of his companions with a brief order. ‘Find Kreblug and see what he’s got on this bloated bug of an Uruk. We’ll need to know how to best get round him should the situation call for it.’

With a grin and a brief nod, the Orc slunk off, heading first for their supply of liquid bribery before making his way to old Kreblug . . .

[Orofaniel]

"He is but a man, a mortal man…"

"…a man that can be killed."

These words that had come from The Orc Captain Thrákmazh still lingered in Herding's thoughts. He didn't know whether he was surprised, angry or just..pleased that Thrákmazh too had been thinking about Koran - Koran's defeat. However, Herding couldn't help feeling mad at Thrákmazh because he felt that the Orc Captain had betrayed him. At the same time, Herding thought Thrákmazh was right when he said that Koran would betray both of them, and that it was just a matter of time before he did. He just knew it. It was better to finish Koran off before that time, Herding figured. Yes, indeed that would be the cleverest thing to do. But how could they go through with this? Herding knew it would be difficult since Koran was after all another Captain. What about the Eye?

What if the consequences would be horrifying and Thrákmazh would back off and let Herding take the whole bloody mess on his shoulders? No, he couldn't risk it, nor would he allow such a thing to happen. Never trust an Orc that seems to be on your side, because he will betray you. Herding had heard those words in his childhood. And though his experiences as a soldier and as a Captain, he knew that it was true. But Herding had to take some chances didn't he? He could either be betrayed by both his fellow Captains, or just Koran. Or maybe just the Orc? Herding couldn't collect his thoughts. They were roaming around in his head, making him feel slightly dizzy. He sat down, still pondering, trying to straighten his thoughts but he found it quite difficult as he continued arguing with himself.

Then there was that soldier that always followed Captain Koran wherever he went. He would certainly know that Thrákmazh and himself were up to something, wouldn't he? Oh yes, Herding knew it :The result would be everything else than they had expected; killing several people. But Herding only wanted to get rid of the one! He only wanted to get rid of Koran! That was what his heart and soul told him. Yet his mind, thought otherwise. Herding felt that some way Koran would prove himself useful at later events - and as much as Herding hated to admit it, Koran had already been quite useful; he had captured some neat elves that would be sent to Dol Guldur shortly.

Herding could use him, he was full aware of that. It was only if Thrákmazh would let Herding use Koran- that was the question. Herding figured that Koran wasn't too hard to trick, although he could be mistaken, but he surely doubted it. To kill Koran now was simply out of the question. Definitely.

How he wanted too though! His heart longed to see the Haradrim...No, he couldn’t stand watching Koran lead to another victory while, he, himself stood alone with all the losses. It wasn’t acceptable.

"Do not let your heart get in the way of true thinking," he told himself, trying to calm down. He felt as if he was torn apart, between two mighty forces and none of them would let him go. What could he do? What would Thrákmazh think? Thrákmazh would probably be annoyed by Herding's cowardice if Herding turned him own- which was after all likely.

Then Herding figured that he didn't really have to answer the Orc, did he? No.

If Thrákmazh didn't bring up the subject once again, Herding wouldn't do it either. Clever- as long as Thrákmazh kept his mouth shut.

[Firefoot]

The special force of triumphant Orcs and Men had left, prisoners in tow. Thorvel went to join the other Elves. Targil and Calenvása seemed to have finished some kind of conversation, and there was an air of determination about the Captain. Lómarandil surveyed the other Elves coldly, for once saying nothing.

“We will rescue the captives,” said Calenvása. Thorvel was relieved that he would not have to argue this point, for he was like-minded. The Captain went on, “They will not likely keep the prisoners with them during the attack; rather they will send them back to Dol Guldur with a small guard. It is then that we will save the captives.” It seemed to Thorvel that Targil disagreed with this action, and yet he said nothing. That was strange to Thorvel, for Targil had never been one to keep his arguments himself. Lómarandil did speak up, however.

“So we will save three Elves, and leave the rest of Lorien to the army?” Thorvel had to give him some credit - it was a valid question, but one that he was pretty sure he knew the answer to.

“Seven Elves will move faster than an army of Orcs,” said Thorvel, not unkindly. “My guess is that we should still be able to reach Lorien before the Orcs, if the rescue goes quickly. And these Lorien elves will have been in close proximity of the Orcs: perhaps they have heard some things of the army’s plan that we have not.” Thorvel couldn’t tell if Lómarandil was satisfied or not with this answer. Thorvel looked to the Captain to make sure that he had not spoken wrongly of their plans. Calenvása was nodding. He said, “Yes, that is what we will do. For now, we will head back to the Orc camp and try to get some idea of their lay out and plans. When they begin to move the Elves, we will meet again to follow them.” The Elves got up and made their way back to the army, moving quickly and lightly. They spread out a bit to see what the Orcs were doing.

It did not take Thorvel long to spot the Lorien Elves, tied up as they were outside of a tent. They did not appear to be seriously injured, though one appeared to have passed out. Any Orc that happened to pass them sneered or glared, yet the two that were awake held their heads high, outwardly refusing to acknowledge their captors. Thorvel hoped they were listening closely, whatever their appearance; any information they could pick up would be helpful. Some of the Orcs and Men moved about the army with purpose. Those would be the Captains, undoubtedly making plans for their prisoners. Some of them moved in and out of the tent near which the Elves were stationed.

Thorvel waited for the Orcs to show signs of moving the Elves, expressionless and still as a stone. His gray eyes had not lost their inner fire. The arrows in his quiver were waiting to be used. It would not be long now. And so he waited.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

In the first Years of the Sun, when Ambarturion was but a youth and the world was green and vital in the first strength of its awakening, the Elf had delighted to walk in the woods of Doriath in the spring and hear about him the calls of birds, and to feel upon his cheeks the gentle caress of last autumn’s leaves. In those days it had seemed that such days would last forever, and no darkness would sully the memories of the songs and deeds of that age. But then the Noldor had returned from the West, bringing with them their War of Pride, and the land had been laid to waste with their endless conflict with the powers of darkness. Their war had become Ambarturion’s, and he had learned through bitter experience that there was to be no victory, only a drawn out defeat. He had known this hard truth for millennia, but now that the time had come for him to taste of that defeat himself, the flavour was more ashen and cursed than he had imagined.

He lay upon the ground in the midst of the orc camp and sought to follow Megilaes into unconsciousness, but was unable to find that relief. The hatred of the orcs burned upon his mind like hot irons, and the sound of their gibbering was as the raucous cry of the carrion birds that were no doubt devouring Caranbaith at this very moment. His hatred for the monsters was boundless, and for a long time all he could see or think of was the delight that he would take in crushing the life from them all. He had expected that this hatred would sustain him through the torture, but the orcs had been prevented from their wicked pleasures by the Men. Ambarturion had not been afraid of the vulgar methods of sport employed by the orcs, for they could never touch or break his will. But he knew that eventually he would be taken before the seat of Sauron, and there no amount of rage could sustain him from the Eye. In mere moments he would be stripped of flesh and bone and become as a naked mind, withering in the blast of the Enemy’s malice – and in that gaze he would speak of the unspeakable; he would reveal the secret that his Lord and Lady had revealed only to their most intimate counsellors: that the One Ring had been found, and that it was being taken by halflings into the very heart of Mordor in a fruitless quest. Sauron would have this of him, and Middle-Earth would finally fall into the slavery and corruption that was its destiny. He felt neither sadness nor regret at this, for he had known that such a day would come, but he could not bear the shame that he would be the instrument of the Enemy’s final victory.

It was Coromswyth who brought him from the dark terrors of his mind, calling him back to a no less pleasant reality. He opened his eyes and looked at the orcs and Men who stood about them, still keeping at a respectable distance. The Sun was beginning to set and the army had set its watch fires about the perimeter. It was impossible to know their numbers from where they lay, but it was undoubtedly a great host – certainly the equal, at least, of the two armies that had already been thrown against the borders of Lorien. He took some comfort in the knowledge of their imminent defeat. Caranbaith’s murder would be avenged, even if not by him.

“Ambarturion,” Coromswyth said again, more urgently. “Do you hear me? Come back to the world Ambarturion, do not live amongst the shadows.”

“I am here,” he replied softly, “but not for long. Soon, I fear, we will both be in the shadows and there will be nothing there for us but cold and terror.”

“Do not speak of such things,” she replied soothingly. “Where there is life, there is hope.” Her words brought him no comfort. Seeing this, Coromswyth sought to distract his attention from his despair. “There is something strange about this army,” she said. “It is made up of more than orcs from Dol Guldur and their allies the wicked Men. There are captains here of both races who are doughty and resourceful. It was they who captured us…” She trailed off and Ambarturion knew that she was remembering her own capture. He did not offer her any comfort, for what could he say, who had no comfort to give himself? “I have been watching them,” she said. “There appears to be two armies. Or, rather, there is one army and a smaller band of much mightier troops. They keep together more or less, out just beyond the main force. It would seem that most of those who attacked us came from that group.”

Ambarturion nearly groaned. What use of talking of this? he thought. Lorien is protected by the power of the Lady; the Enemy cannot prevail for as long as Nenya remains in her possession. But even as he thought this there came to his mind, as clearly as though it were taking place before his waking eyes once more, the tactic that the orcs had used in capturing them: the main force had attacked in a frontal assault, while the more crafty and able fighters had come upon their flank and taken Coromswyth unawares…

His heart froze as his eyes met Coromswyth’s, and so great was the terror of his soul that even though they had known one another but a short time, he was able to speak with her mind. They plan to attack Lorien on two fronts! The army will be destroyed, but it will keep the attention of the Wood’s defenders while this other, smaller group will attack a different target. But what will that target be?

They remained like that, locked in one another’s gaze for what seemed like hours, but in truth it was but a moment. When Coromswyth replied, it was with such violent horror, that Ambarturion gasped aloud. Caras Galadhon! she wailed, The Lady Galadriel! They mean to attack the Lady directly, and to deprive the Woods of her protection!

[Arry]

It was several hours later when the Orc reported back to Gromwakh. Their new Uruk commander, it seemed, had very little they could use to get round him. ‘Keeps a tight rein on, that one does. Wants to impress the higher ups with his single-minded loyalty.’ Gromwakh’s brows rose in question as the messenger chuckled. ‘Kreblug says Gâshronk’s got his nose so far up old One-eye’s . . .’

The slap-slap of the Uruk’s calloused feet coming near brought silence to the small band of Orcs. Gâshronk, taking his new promotion quite seriously, had come to inspect whether all needed supplies had been gathered and his troops suitably geared up for their mission. ‘We’re leaving soon. Have you slugs got it all together?’ Muffled murmurs of affirmation eddied half-heartedly around the little group.

Gromwakh stepped forward, his companions’ eyes fixed on him wondering what he was up to. ‘Begging your pardon, Cap’n,’ he began. Gâshronk stopped before the groveling Orc and poked him with the braided leather stock of his whip. ‘Speak up, cave rat!’

‘Well, I was thinking we should get one of the supply wagons and keep the prisoners in it, bound hand and foot. Be faster, I think, than trying to drag them along.’ And safer, too . . ., Grom added silently to himself. ‘We can easily move it at a good speed, the lot of us taking turns, I think.’

Gâshronk shoved him hard in the shoulder, causing the Orc to stumble back. ‘I’ll do what thinking there needs to be done around here, you carrion!’ Letting his gaze flow over the assembled Orcs he barked out his orders.

‘Get the wagon from the Supply Master. Tell him it’s needed for a special mission. Load the supplies we’ll need at one end and leave room to throw the Elves in. What won’t fit can go in the long-box underneath.’ The Orcs stood dumbly looking from one to another. ‘Well! Get your worthless hairy backsides in gear and get going!’

Gromwakh and his twelve companions took off at a run to comply. ‘There must be something old Kreblug told you,’ he panted, running beside his information gatherer. ‘Only that he’s overly fond of stewed squirrel with bitterroot . . . can eat a whole potful if he sets his mind to it,’ wheezed the Orc as they neared where the supply wagons were kept. Grom nodded his head thoughtfully as they came to a chuffing halt.

The wagon was commandeered, not without much argument by those in charge of them. A supply of provisions was laid in, including a small barrel of dried squirrel meat and a packet of bitterroot. Grom borrowed one of the medicinal kits from the rear of one of the other wagons and stored it along with some leathery dried ground tubers beneath the wagon, and two large bladders of fresh water.

And hour later, and they were back where Gâshronk had assembled his group. ‘All ready, Cap’n,’ mumbled Gromwakh in a well practiced tone of servility. ‘Shall we load on the Elves and their effects now?’

He ducked back, out of reach of the Uruk’s whip handle, hoping his suggestion had not sounded too forward.

[Firefoot]

Thorvel crept silently towards the Orc camp. He had been waiting since dawn to move, and he felt that the time was right. During that time he had had plenty of time to think, and much of it had been about Lómarandil. At seeing the young wounded Elf be dragged away, he had felt worried, but now much of that worry had been replaced by exasperation and annoyance. What had driven him to go after the Orcs? Foolish, foolish, foolish young Elf, to go chasing after the Orcs alone like that. And arrogant too. What had he been trying to do? There would have been plenty of time for killing Orcs today, but now he was captured and there was yet one more Elf to rescue. He sighed softly. He still had no idea how he was going to greet the young Elf, but he determined that he would not yell. He would let Calenvása take care of that, or Targil, or whoever was in charge now.

When Thorvel reached the fringe of the Orcs’ camp, he realized that they were already starting to fan out into the forest, leaving a single Orc behind, who he recognized as the leader of the small party by his single eye. He let out a long, low whistle, made in imitation of a bird, to let the other two Elves still in the forest know the Orcs were coming. The single remaining Orc went to check on the captives, and then sat himself down on a rock in the sun. He shook his head at the Orcs’ arrogance and stupidity. This rescue was going to go even easier than planned! Unless there were other Orcs hidden nearby... Thorvel scanned the campsite and strained his Elvish ears for any sign of other Orcs. He thought he heard a few that were very close. That could be trouble, but it also might not mean anything at all. It was a risk he had to take. He loosened his knife in its sheath and pulled out his bow. He notched an arrow to the string and took cold, careful aim, smiling grimly. He loosed the arrow, but the Orc took that moment to shift positions, and instead of going straight through the heart it only lodged in his shoulder. Thorvel could not tell whether the Orc was dead or only unconscious. He waited a few moments for any sign of more Orcs before stepping out into the clearing, still on guard, and only then did he turn his attentions to the wagon.