Erestor groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. He had no recollection of how long he had been out, but from what he could see through disoriented eyes, it was still dark. He tried to get an idea of where he was, but he was still dazed by the violent blow to his head, and could not remember much of anything.
Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, he was relieved when his vision finally began to clear. But intense fear clenched its icy claws tightly into Erestor's gut when he realized the horrific reality he was being held in an orc camp inside of a large cavern. The cave was dark and damp, consisting of numerous twists and turns, and it smelled of rotting corpses. Despite being an elf, he could not help but feel a cold draft, even though it was the middle of summer.
Erestor looked around more carefully, studying his surroundings, and it was then he spotted them – orcs! About half a dozen squatted near the entrance of their cell and judging by their size and appearance he was able to determine they were scouts. They were brown in color with slanted yellow eyes and flat noses. Their mouths were wide, with sharp fangs protruding from between thin lips. Upon closer observation, Erestor could see they had long, dangly arms, standing much smaller than the average orc. They were just slightly larger than a hobbit, which meant they were easily disposed of, so they were typically used to keep watch over unimportant prisoners, or to keep an eye and ear out for any possible intruders.
Erestor knew he had to get out, but the more he tried to move, the more his head throbbed as a massive wave of nausea overcame him. As he lay there, he winced as his sharp ears picked up the sound of the grotesque voices of many other orcs gathered further down from where they were being held. He was able to tell by the voices they were larger orcs – probably commanding their scrawny slaves – but despite the acute hearing of the elves, he was not yet able to make out what they were saying. He was not sure he even wanted to.
Closing his eyes, Erestor tried harder to remember what had happened. They had been camping, and then the warg had attacked him. He remembered Glorfindel being hurled against the tree, and then he fell unconscious just as more orcs had appeared from between the trees. After that, all he could remember was a haze of pain and rage.
But where was Glorfindel? The blond warrior was nowhere in sight.
He moved slightly and gasped with pain as the wound on his arm began bleeding anew. Cursing silently to himself, he gently probed the injury – thankfully the arm was not broken. Tearing a strip off his cloak, he quickly bandaged his forearm, effectively stopping the bleeding. However, he could do naught with the throbbing headache but wait for it to cease.
Once he had finished caring for his injuries, he looked around himself to see if he could find Glorfindel. As his eyes roved across the length of the cave, he saw him. There, laying in a heap and still not moving, was his friend. Erestor swallowed hard. Why wasn't he moving? Erestor began to move toward Glorfindel, but each time he attempted to move, he would be assailed by bouts of dizziness and excruciating pain from his arm. He stopped only briefly each time, and once it had passed, he forced himself to get as close to Glorfindel as he could without attracting the attention of the enemy.
Looking closer, Erestor tried to rouse him. "Glorfindel, wake up, my friend!" he murmured in a soothing voice. But still, Glorfindel did not stir. I must try and find out what is wrong with him, Erestor thought to himself. The dark-haired elf gently probed his friend's wounds to figure out the extent of his injuries. As he looked more closely, he gasped at what he saw: Glorfindel's head had a large gash just above his right brow, and his torso had huge, gaping puncture wounds from his lower abdomen to his upper ribs. As he felt for any broken bones, Erestor could detect nasty dark bruises and felt the unmistakable feeling of broken ribs. Leaning carefully over his friend, he laid a gentle hand on Glorfindel's abdomen and could tell by the softness there was internal bleeding. He knew if Glorfindel weren't treated swiftly, he would die. Erestor ripped part of his cloak again and cleaned and dressed his friend's wounds as best as he could.
Erestor cursed silently at himself for his stupidity. If only he had not frozen, Glorfindel would not be hurt, and they would never have been captured. Now because of him, they were in an orc camp, and his friend was dying.
As he lost himself in his thoughts, he was interrupted by the sound of several orcs coming toward him, followed closely by a larger one Erestor figured must be the leader.
"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to wake up, boys!" the larger Orc growled with a menacing laugh.
"Who are you, and what do you want from us?" Erestor asked, hoping his voice did not betray the fear that rose relentlessly inside him.
The commander cackled again. "You hear that? The poor elf maggot wants to know what we want from them. Well, you will know soon enough!" The leader bent down and, with a firm grip, lifted Erestor up off the cave floor. "I'm known as Shurkut," he hissed, "and I've got questions that need answering. If you know what is good for you, you'll tell me what I want to know."
Shurkut dragged Erestor outside of his cell and roughly carried him from the cave back outside, where he was hung from a large tree limb. Erestor felt fear grip him as he began to realize the severity of the situation he was in. He had no idea what these orcs wanted, or who they worked for – all he knew was that by the fact he and Glorfindel were still alive, these foul creatures worked for a higher power, and had orders to keep them alive. But that did not mean they would not be tortured.
After he had been hung from the tree, Shurkut came over, followed by three other orcs who carried several objects. Two Erestor recognized as a whip and a branding iron. The elf paled as he realized if he refused to answer their questions, he would undoubtedly be beaten severely.
Shurkut approached Erestor and grinned. "Now, it is quite simple. We know you hail from Rivendell and your master is Lord Elrond." Erestor blanched. Elrond? Why would they want to know about Elrond? Shurkut continued, "We want to know how many elves reside in Rivendell, how well you are armed, how to enter in undetected, Elrond's daily habits, and about his Ring. If you tell us what we want to know, you will be spared. If you don't…well, I don't think we need to tell you what will happen."
How did they know about Elrond's Ring? Only a few elves knew about Vilya: Glorfindel, Elrond's children, Galadriel, Celeborn, and himself. Erestor knew none of them would ever betray that secret to anyone, so who else could have found out? It didn't matter, he decided, because he would never betray his lord or Imladris' secrets. He would die before that ever happened.
As if sensing Erestor's defiance, Shurkut growled. "So you are not going to cooperate with us, eh? Well, we have ways of making you talk." He motioned to the orc with the branding tool, which was now red hot. As the creature approached him, Erestor closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for what he knew was going to happen. He felt the heat near his body, and after a few seconds, a searing hot pain and the smell of burning flesh ripped through his body. Erestor let out a scream and jerked away, but he was unable to move far.
The orc burned him repeatedly, but each time Erestor still refused to talk. After a bit, Shurkut became angry. He ordered the other orc to come forward, and just as Erestor thought it was over, he felt a stinging sensation rip through his body and the feeling of something wet dripping from his back and side. He was being flogged. Over and over it continued until Erestor could not take it anymore, and begged them to stop.
Finally, it stopped, as it was apparent Erestor was not going to tell them anything. They knew they had to keep him alive by orders of their master, so the beating ceased. For the moment. The orcs untied Erestor from the tree, his arm bleeding profusely through the bandage and feeling cold and numb. They dragged him back into the cave and threw him next to Glorfindel, who was still out cold.
"You may have won this round, maggot, but mark my words, next time you will not be so lucky. We will be back in the morning, and you had better tell us what we want to know or else your friend is next!" Shurkut growled, and with a huge heave of his boot kicked Glorfindel in his chest before turning to leave with a maniacal laugh. As Erestor looked down at his friend, the sight he was met with was horrendous. There in front of him was Glorfindel, white as a sheet, and convulsing.