REDEMPTION
By Vilya74
Disclaimer:
I don't own anyone but myself, and claim no rights to any of the characters of Middle Earth. The story is my own. The character, Celboril, was created by and is owned by Siobhan and Cassia, the great authors of the Mellon Chronicles. I'm just borrowing him and hope to return him unscathed.
The story has not been beta'd so please don't flame me for departures from canon. I would welcome any input and corrections, though.
Reviews are very welcome (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).
Summary:
A while ago a 'critter challenge' was issued. The idea was to write a story, preferably humorous, about an unusual pet for Aragorn. I started thinking about the what-ifs of an adult Aragorn coming across an Orc child and trying to rehabilitate the creature. Why not? After all, Orcs were once Elves. Can an Orc be saved if brought up in a loving environment? It is the old nature versus nurture debate.
Stories have a life of their own, so let's see where this one leads.
Part I: Finding Faith
He slowly drew back the bowstring and sighted along the shaft. The deer tensed, poised for flight. It knew it was in danger but could not sense where the threat was originating.
One moment he was that threat, and then the fear of the old buck transferred to the Elf as he sensed an evil presence. He pricked his ears, and the slight movement of his head was enough to set off the deer, but not quickly enough to evade the arrow speeding towards him from the direction where he wanted to flee.
"Yes!" Legolas heard his human friend rejoicing. They had been tracking this deer for most of the morning, the wily old buck always eluding them at the last moment.
"Shhh," he quickly gestured towards Aragorn, who knew better than to question such a command. He quickly crossed the distance between them and then asked the question with his eyebrows. Legolas gave a slight shake of his head to indicate his uncertainty, but then it was no longer necessary to wonder at the sense of impending danger when the shrill cry of some critter betrays the position of a band of Orcs. Aragorn fell the deer half way up a hill, and through the trees they now got an excellent view of the approaching party in the gully below. They quietly dropped down behind the trunk of a huge old tree to avoid being spotted themselves.
A gruff voice grated out: "Keep the bloody thing quiet woman!"
"He's hungry he is, the poor mite, and tired at that. Ye been marchin us along the whole mornin." A slap across her face is the only answer that the female Orc received. Her indignant screeches joined with the bawling of the infant in her arms to cause a cacophony of sound that made Legolas wince.
"Have you ever seen a female or a baby before?" Aragorn whispered, although the noise from below would have drowned out a shout. Again Legolas shook his head.
"The females and the young ones are said to stay deep underground in the caves that are scattered throughout the mountains of Mordor. Only the males become warriors and venture forth into the lands of the other races in war parties. In all my years I have never seen either a female or an infant Orc. Nor do I know of any of my people who have. Something profound must have happened to bring them this deep into Middle Earth."
The child was in the meantime put on the ground by the female who then became locked in frenzied combat with the Orc that slapped her earlier. Both were flinging insults at each other. The rest of the troupe was shouting their encouragement to the combatants and the spectacle might have continued for some time yet if the wind did not shift at that moment
"Man-flesh!" one warrior less occupied by the fight shouted and the group was almost instantaneously transformed from undisciplined rabble to a fighting unit. "And Elf-flesh too," one said with glee. This was the cue for Legolas to let loose a barrage of arrows which left five of the eleven warriors sprawled on the ground before the band could even react. Not to be outdone, Aragorn uttered a roaring battle cry as he crashed through trees, sword drawn, engaging the first Orc as the last of Legolas' arrows found its mark before he too joined the fray with his knives. The battle was furious, and it was not without their fair share of cuts and bruises that the two friends found themselves some time later, breathing hard as they surveyed the carnage. These Orcs were not the usual fare. Clearly they represented some type of 'elite' unit, if they could be called that.
"What happened to the female and the child?" asked Aragorn between gasps.
"She grabbed him and ran in that direction," Legolas indicated towards his left while ripping a piece of his cloak with his teeth to bind a bleeding wound on his thigh.
"You all right?" Aragorn asked with a concerned look.
"A few scratches, Mother, that's all," the elf replied with a mocking grin.
"Ha ha, very funny," grumbled Aragorn, "don't think you're going to get away with it that easily. You can't just bind up a morgul wound like any other, and well you know it, Legolas."
"Aragorn, please, I have been fighting Orcs since before you were born. Loooong before you were born. I know when they poisoned their blades and when not."
"Oh is that how you explain your little trip to the infirmary last month?" Legolas blushed slightly as he recalled being carried across the shoulder of his ranger friend mile after mile. A very distraught ranger who almost did not get him to Lord Elrond in time.
"Fine, you made your point," he agreed reluctantly and pretended not to see the satisfied grin on the human's face. Aragorn cleansed and bounds their wounds properly after applying a poultice to fight off the infection that would almost inevitably follow any encounter with the filthy weapons of the Orcs. By the time he finished night had fallen and both were loath to continue in the dark. They assembled a makeshift flet some distance from the battle scene. They secured what remained of the deer after a very satisfying evening meal and retired for the night. Several times that night Legolas could have sworn that he heard the far off cries and screeches of the infant Orc.
Shortly after dawn the two friends started tracking the female's passage through the woods. It was clear that she had little understanding of covering her tracks, but her progress was swift and it was not until late that afternoon when they found both the Orcs. The mother was sprawled awkwardly at the bottom of a ravine, her broken leg bent at an eye-twisting angle. The way she moved when she became aware of their presence made it apparent to Aragorn's trained eye that she must have sustained some severe internal injuries too when she tumbled headlong down the steep bank.
From the tracks Legolas could see that the child had fallen clear of his mother when she fell, after which he climbed down the almost sheer walls to reach her. It was a miracle that the young one was still alive, and showing no more injury than skinned hands and knees. But it was the bewildered look on the little wretch's face that troubled him most. It
was clear that the child had seen the man and Elf and wanted to run to the relative safety of his mother's arms, but somehow dared not do so.
When Aragorn started descending, Legolas learned to his horror the reason for the youngster's indecision. His fear of the man overcame his reluctance to approach his mother, and he toddled towards her with a cry, but the moment he came within reach, she lunged at him with a broken knife blade. She barely missed as a loose rock made him stumble. Pain prevented her from renewing her attack immediately and the boy used the moment to scramble away, now bawling hysterically.
Seeing that Aragorn would reach the child in moments she made a desperate last attempt to kill her offspring be throwing the knife at the child. If not for the broken blade the knife would have flown true, but instead of piercing his heart, the knife buried itself deep in the arm of the screaming child.
Anger replaces shock and within a moment an arrow left the bow of the Elf who was still standing at the top of the ravine. The point found its mark and the hate-contorted face of the Orc relaxed into death.
"Legolas, I could use your help down here."
"Coming." Sure footed the Elf bounded down the steep ground to reach the man struggling to hold the shrieking boy still so that he might remove the knife without further injuring the child.
"Hold him for me." Aragorn tried to push the bundle of noise into the Elf's arms, but Legolas flinched.
"Why don't you rather hold him. You already have him in your arms. I will remove the weapon." Aragorn looked surprised at Legolas, but when he saw the disgust on his friend's face he decided not to argue the point. Legolas might be moved to kill by the sight of the attempted infanticide, but to an Elf an Orc remained the personification of all that is evil and corrupt. Knowing that these foul creatures once walked amongst the First Born made it al the more unsettling. He could not expect Legolas to feel any compassion towards the wounded creature he was holding, and having already gained several scratches, bites and kicks, even Aragorn's patience began to wear thin. Yet there was infinite kindness in Legolas' hands when he withdrew the blade and bound up the deep flesh wound. A draught of a hastily mixed potion forced between the lips of the still squealing child brought an end to the constant noise when drug enforced sleep claimed him.
"Dear Elbereth, I think I'm developing a migraine," sighed Legolas when quiet finally descended.
"I thought Elves don't get headaches," laughed Aragorn, but silently also thanked the Valar for the reprieve.
"Clearly that is because no Elf in recent times has had the misfortune to meet with an Orc-child."
In days to come both Legolas and Aragorn would be reminded of these words, and come to ponder on the fate that led them to cross paths with the shrieking, stinking ball of fury they now found themselves saddled with.