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The men stood as if made of stone as shock covered their expressions and they stared at the filthy creature huddled upon the floor, her rasping fearful gasps filling the silence.

Small high pitched noises of terror escaped her lips if any man moved. She scrabbled at the cave walls retreating further, her eyes wide with wild fear, as she took in each one of the men before her. She was both terrified and awed by them, none were dirty, they wore fine armor comprised of chainmail and a silver tree decorated each breast plate of brown leather, dark green cloaks hooded some faces. An older man seemed to be the leader, his black hair was slightly graying at the temples, his brow was noble and held a wisdom to it that held her gaze to his as he studied her thoughtfully. He rubbed his lightly bearded chin and glanced at his men.

"We cannot leave her here" he said quietly, his intention not to startle her.

"I will get her Sir" a young man to his right said, regaining himself, and motioning with his hand for two other men to follow him. They approached her warily as she looked on, her body now physically shaking, he reached out a hand, palm towards her in a gesture of peace.

She glanced frantically about her, the whites of her eyes rolling with the fear of change, of the Orcs she had lived with for so many years lying dead and dismembered all about her, their black blood seeping into the dusty ground. He was but inches away from her and she had nowhere to run, nor the strength to fight. With a blurry quick movement his rough, leather-gloved hand wrapped about her wrist, skimming the blisters and burns of her hand. She shrieked as the pain radiated through her and violently lashed out, her dirty, long fingernails digging into the soft skin of his face until his cries mingled with hers and he roughly pulled himself away from her, breathing hard, his eyes full of hatred.

"She's lost her mind Sir!" he said, his hand flying to his cheek, checking for injury and blood. "She's become one of the filthy creatures!"

She felt all eyes upon her, none more so than the older man's, as tears of pain and anguish began to stream unrelentingly down her face.

She saw through blurred vision that the older man was again studying her intently, slowly he shook his head. "No, Galan" he said, addressing the injured man," look how she cradles her hand." He gestured lightly to her, "You hurt her."

"I hurt her!" Galan mumbled to the men behind him.

Slowly the older man approached and crouched before her. At first her instinct was again to get away, her breaths came in panicked gulps as he drew closer still. Softly he hushed her, said words in a soothing voice; until finally her breathing slowed, her mind registering that he was making no attempt to touch her. She glanced up at him, he wore a kindly expression and she furrowed her brow trying to understand it.

"Do you understand me?" he asked gently.

She stared blankly at him.

"Do you understand?" He said the words slowly and after a moment of confusion crossing her features she raised her good hand and made a sign with her thumb and index finger, a sign that she usually used to tell the Orcs there were very few men in a village. The man's face lightened into a small understanding smile.

"A little." He repeated her meaning. "She understands only a little."

He smiled again, this time reassuringly, before gesturing to himself. "Anborn." She flinched and relaxed at his movement before furrowing her brow once more and trying to understand his meaning. He gestured again to his chest, "Anborn," before slowly indicating to her.

She glanced at him, the fear still at the forefront of her gaze. She slowly reached down to a sandy part of the ground and wrote the only thing the Orcs had ever taught her, thinking that small cruel joke quite amusing, the endless hours spent repeating it making her forget her own name over the years. She spelt out "It" in the common tongue and then rested back against the wall. Slowly, hesitantly, she indicated to the writing and then to herself. The man glanced at the writing, his lined brow creasing as he read it and then looked back at her. With great care so as to not startle her, he held his hand out and told her silently with his eyes to take it.

She stared for a moment, knowing that she really had no choice; they could take her by force if they so wished and they were offering her a way to come quietly, hopefully without any beatings. Finally she slipped her hand into his and Anborn carefully helped her onto her feet, he asked for a blanket and wrapped the warm cloth about her shoulders, being careful to not disturb her injured hand. He then led her out into the slowly fading night. She was quickly put upon a horse before Anborn, her body quivered uncontrollably with fear as the beast whinnied and moved beneath her. When they began to ride she closed her eyes tightly, silently enduring the terror that threatened to engulf her with the unknown situation.

After some time had passed Anborn held up his hand in a gesture for the men to stop, the land before her eyes was now bathed in soft sunlight, a glistening large stream lined by trees stood nearby.

The younger man Galan rode to his side.

"What troubles you?"

Anborn smiled a little and gestured to the girl before him. "The smell is making it hard to ride, she stinks of Orc."

Galan gave a low chuckle, "We have some rags for washing, a lump of bathing soap, and I can find a change of tunic." He pointed to the stream, "Let her wash a little."

Anborn nodded and swung himself down from his mount, helping the girl down with him. The wash cloth and soap were quickly brought and Anborn guided her to the stream. He gestured as best he could that he wished her to clean herself. She took the cloth and soap and stared at them in confusion. Finally realizing that the poor starved creature had never actually washed, he unbuckled his chainmail and picked her up, her eyes flew wildly at what this new punishment was and how much it would hurt. Carefully he waded in and lowered her into the icy cold waters. She yelped and tried to scramble from him but he held her tightly about the waist until her struggles stilled. He fished the soap and cloth from the stream and, clasping her to his chest so she could not run, he soaped up the washrag and began to clean her face before working his way down to her arms, her form flinching at ever touch. Slowly she began to understand his meaning and took the cloth from him and imitating his movements she began to scrub the years of dirt from her skin. The water around her quickly darkened and Anborn waded back onto the bank where his men already awaited him with a change of clothing. She quickly removed the remnants of her rags and unashamedly carried on with her washing in front of the men.

"Turn your heads men, she knows no better" Anborn said quickly and his men obeyed, tending to their saddle bags and minor injuries they had sustained.

Anborn lowered himself onto the bank, his eyes still upon the girl as she dipped in and out of the water, holding her injured hand in the air above her head. He pondered for a moment upon the unusual circumstances, knowing that the Orcs would have had some purpose for her and she was likely spoiled beyond thinking. Had he not seen an Orc lying near her… though he did not know it was a her… the poor thing would be ever outcast from wherever she went for no fault of her own. He studied her naked form, she was skinny, her skin sickeningly stretched taut across her ribs, her jutting hip bones a testament to her malnourished life. He could see the hollows of her cheekbones, the whole appearance giving her the look of a strange wasted ghost. He thought she had to be no younger than her eighteenth year and no longer than her twenty fifth, either age this meant she had suffered this way on the brink of death for who knew how many years, the Orcs had even tauntingly given her a name, "It". The thought of this girl having no name tugged at his heart and as he watched her clumsily bathing in the stream he thought of a name that would suit her at least for now.

When her splashing had subsided he gathered a blanket, the tunic and a leather belt and went to the bank. She waded over to him, no shame clouding her features as she revealed herself fully to his eyes. Even though she had washed, dirt clung to her and streaked her skin; a hot bath would be in order once they were safely home. He quickly wrapped the blanket about her and forced her to show him her injured hand, it was swollen with a weeping, angry burn. Underneath the red and blistered flesh he could see the mottled scars that told of past burns just like this one she now bore.

He gently guided her hand down, she resisted but he easily plunged her hand into the icy water. She gave a small cry and screwed her eyes tightly shut, he held her hand underwater for many minutes, the pain and shock lessening and becoming easier to bear. When he released her and she pulled herself from the water, her hand tingled with a coolness that seemed to ease some of the pain. She glanced at him, her face wearing a gullible look of ignorance to his actions, of him giving her any aid. He guided her onto the bank and after calling for his pack he bound her hand with a poultice of herbs and clean cloth before pulling the tunic over her head and tying a belt around her tiny waist. She studied the bandage, her free hand touching it lightly every few moments as if checking it were still there.

"Sir," Galan was stood a little way behind her, "are we to take her with us?" He paused. "I too pity the poor creature, but she seems simple, perhaps she thinks herself an Orc, she may be dangerous." He touched his cheek thinking back to the cave, his voice was slightly uncertain in tone at questioning his captain.

Anborn glanced at the girl beside him and then at Galan, "She knows she is no Orc, Galan." He sighed. "It is true she may be simple, but we cannot leave her, we ride for home." He gave a small smile. "It is only a day from here if we ride hard."

Galan gave a nod of understanding before returning back to his horse.

Anborn turned his attention back to the girl and studied her as her wide eyes never left his form, as if expecting him to suddenly turn upon her violently. He slowly drew in the mud the word "It". She looked at him questioningly, her mistrust shining clearly through her eyes. She watched as he drew a line through the word and shook his head at her.

He pointed to her, "Aedre." He paused and then gestured to her again, "Your name is Aedre."

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Aedre dozed sleepily in the saddle, her body too exhausted to feel intense fear and her mind too full to think upon anything but rest. Her head lolled against Anborn's chest, the smell of leather and horseflesh bringing her a strange kind of comfort. She became used to the rhythm as the horse galloped, used to the shouts of men about her and finally slumbered, her place secured by Anborn's arm about her waist. They stopped briefly to rest and eat and drink, she was offered bread and fresh water which she accepted greedily, eating all that was put before her, her instincts too used to devouring all she was given and soon she found that her stomach pained her. She stopped mid-bite, her hand clasping at her abdomen as strange aches pulled at her. Anborn gave her an understanding smile and took the large piece of bread she had been stuffing into her mouth from her hands.

"You eat too much and too quickly" he scolded gently, but he knew from her blank stare that she did not understand his words. He sighed and shook his head before looking back at her. He indicated with his hand the action of eating and then made a gesture of something large and then put his hand to his stomach, his face in mock pain, hoping that she would understand his meaning. Slowly she gave a small uncertain nod that she had understood and Anborn smiled.

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The sunlight did not seem to last long as they continued their ride, twilight closed in around them and darkness crept up behind their hoof beats.

"Ride hard!" Anborn commanded back to his men. "We'll make the White City before night fully catches us."

Aedre could clearly see they headed towards a range of large mountains and through the gloom, rock jutted out at strange angles, almost looking rounded. As they came closer, she saw it was no rock face but a magnificent city combined of many layers reaching high up the mountainside and crowned by a tall spike that pointed straight towards the faded starlit sky, she stared at it in horrified wonder, her eyes having never beheld such a sight. They were soon upon the city and cries and groans of metal wheels sounded, startling her into a mild panic as the large, ornate green gates before the riders creaked open, their immense doors carved with likenesses of great looking men in armor, swords held in their hands and helmets adorning their heads.

They quickly entered, the horse's hoofs stepping from soft grassland onto hard white stone pathways, the noise echoed in the near deserted streets as they climbed slowly up and onwards. Small dwellings glowed welcomingly with candlelight either side of the path, merry singing and music radiated from some of the larger buildings where men and woman alike laughed and drank. Aedre's eyes widened in fearful wonder as the noises reached her ears and the sights her eyes.

Still further up they went until another small gateway came into sight, they entered the archway and veered to the left through a still smaller archway until a large stable met their eyes. Men gave out weary sighs of relief to be home and slipped tiredly down from their mounts, leading the beasts back to warm, comfortable stables where stable boys awaited with fresh water, food and brushes. The men themselves quickly gave short farewells to their companions, their minds on hot food, soft beds and the faces of their families. Anborn dismounted and helped Aedre down onto the ground, she glanced about her at the people that milled around them, guards in shining silver armor passed by talking quietly while women with baskets of food made trips to their loved ones still on duty, she shrank back finding she wished to be back on the horse rather than in this place.

Anborn wrapped his hand gently around her upper arm and with a small tug urged her into walking. They exited the stable area and ascended two flights of steep steps before coming to a large and rich looking dwelling. Anborn fumbled for a moment with a set of iron keys before finding the one he wanted and inserting it into the keyhole, the bolt clicked and the door swung easily open. Anborn guided her into the warmth of a grand hallway, Aedre's eyes widened once again at the new surrounding she found herself in. Within moments a flurry of excitement could be heard and two women came to greet them, they gave short bows.

"It's good you are home master, the mistress was beginning to fret," the older, stouter of the two said before her eyes drifted to Aedre, she glanced at Anborn but said nothing.

"Anborn." An overly sweet voice carried down the hallway as another woman appeared, her garment was richer and more colourful than the other women.

"Mayda" Anborn said, walking forward with Aedre still in tow.

"The house was beginning to worry." Her voice was scolding in manner and she frowned as if displeased. "You have been gone for a month."

"My mission is over wife," Anborn said, ignoring her tone, "the Orcs that plagued the small villagers are no more."

She placed her hands on her hips. "It took the death of Denethor for the raids to finally be put to a stop," she huffed, "I heard the creatures had been pillaging and killing for nigh on nine years and that is known only as far as the City's sources reach, could be many more years."

Anborn nodded but did not reply, as if used to these rants; Mayda's eyes finally noticed the small skinny girl stood beside her husband, her eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"What is this you bring into our home?"

"A young girl found among the Orcs, a captive I think." He paused, looking down at the frightened creature at his side. "She seems not to be able to speak and understands little of what is spoken to her."

"Why not let one of the other men deal with her? You are captain." She frowned, "She's filthy" she added in disgust.

"Because I came across her and I feel she is my burden" Anborn said, replying to his wife's question.

Mayda took a step forward to gain a better look and Aedre shrank back.

"She is frightened and unused to people" he said as his wife studied the girl intently, her sharp birdish features seeming all the more potent in the candlelight.

"She's no more than a bag of bones, she may not last the night!" Mayda said, her long nose crinkling in dislike.

"All the same, she will have a bed, clothes and food" Anborn said, tugging once again at Aedre's arm and beginning to walk down the hall.

Mayda narrowed her eyes as her gaze followed her husband. "She can stay for now, but I'll have naught to do with her."