Chapter Four
Chapter Four
As Anor's first rays caressed the graceful limbs of the great elm, Thranduil stirred and slowly awoke. It was rare for him to sleep so late, or so deeply, but the stress of the last two days had taken their toll. He was slightly disoriented at first and it took a moment for him to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He turned and looked about expecting to see Doriflen, but was not overly surprised when he did not find him in the flet… it was late after all. Gazing down from above, he saw no sign of him and could hear nothing. Though it seemed odd, he was not immediately alarmed, there were many reasons why his brother might temporarily leave their encampment in the clearing at the base of the tree. He descended rapidly expecting to see him appear at any moment.
Almost a half hour later, Thranduil had finally concluded that Doriflen was no longer in the area. He had examined the clearing thoroughly, and though his skills were not fully developed yet, he could still detect the faint but still fresh traces of Doriflen's passage east towards the twin hills. Since Doriflen had never reentered the clearing; instead skirting south of it to check his traps, here was no sign of his later return. It did not occur to Thranduil to search along the river's edge since he was unaware of the location of the traps, and he had seen no signs of any passage in that direction.
He was at first puzzled and concerned after examining his brother's trail east, he could see that it continued quite some distance. In fact, it appeared to be heading straight towards the area that Doriflen had told him that he hoped to find the pass. He paused for a moment reviewing what he had discovered, his lips thinned in a slight frown.
It suddenly occurred to him that it was quite possible that Doriflen had decided to carry thru on his threat to force Thranduil to track his brother in order to find his way home. He had thought it was only a jest, but he could have been mistaken. Perhaps his brother was serious about turning the return trip into a game. Maybe he had changed his mind and chosen to play this game with him now. A wide smile spread quickly across his face. He could easily imagine his brother laying out a trail for him to follow, and even laying in wait further down the path to try and surprise him as he followed from behind… This could be fun!
The thought of his brother changing his mind, and leaving without a word or any other sign, did not bother Thranduil. Such impulsive behavior and changes in mood were common place with his brother. He had lived his whole life with Doriflen's unpredictability and instabilities. To his young mind there was nothing unusual about it; it was normal; it was just his brother's way. Without further internal debate, he set off in swift pursuit of his unusual quarry.
#
His head hurt. He did not know why, but it hurt.
He wanted to reach up to touch his head, to try and discover the cause of his pain, but he could not.
He forced his sluggish mind to fight its way up thru the dark haze of his nightmare and opened his eyes only to discover that the nightmare was reality. He was lying on the ground, his hands tied tightly behind his back, and his legs bound at the ankles. A single narrow shaft of light pierced the dense canopy above cutting at a low angle thru the surrounding trees… Was it early morning, or was it late afternoon? Several orcs were crowded around him, the sound of their filthy black speech painful to his ears.
"Finally awake are you pretty one?" the orc leering in his face, it's foul breath nearly choking him, had grabbed him by the hair and pulled him a couple of feet up off of the ground. "Did you think that wasting the whole day sleeping when we had time to play and only waking when it is almost time to run again would save you? Think again maggot!" With that, he pulled Doriflen all the way up onto his feet, and called out to the others. "Well boys, it looks like our new toy is finally ready play. You can have a few minutes before we leave, but make sure he is still able to run."
His confusion and pain turned to terror as the orcs started to shove him from one to the other. His heart raced as they punched and clawed at him, and then seemed to stop frozen in an icy grip as others would just grab and paw at him while they laughed and breathed foul promises into his ear of what they would do when they had more time. With his arms and legs still bound, he was unable to protect himself at all, or to even brace himself against their attentions… he was completely helpless.
As the light started to fade, the bonds on his legs were finally cut and a lash was laid across his shoulders for the first time. "Time to go now Maggot, start running!" Spinning away from the pain, he was propelled forward and started running into the darkness away from everything that he had ever known.
The late afternoon sun cast an elongated shadow before the young elf as he jogged along the forest floor. Thranduil was still hours from home, but was no longer searching the terrain for signs of his brother's passing.
#
At first things had gone well; he had easily tracked Doriflen to the mouth of the pass, and part of the way into it. When he had no longer been able to find signs of his passage he had just assumed that he had temporarily lost the trail due to the rocky ground in the higher areas. There was only one way to go, so he knew that he had to have come this way. He also considered that his brother might have intentionally left an easier trail at the beginning of the game in order to make sure that Thranduil set off in the right direction and made it to a safe distance from their home before trying to make things difficult.
When he was still unable to find any trace of him on the other side of the pass, he was crestfallen and assumed that the fault must be with his poor skills. Either Doriflen had taken a slightly different path home that he had just missed, or he was still ahead of him on the same path. Hoping that it was the latter of the two, he increased his pace in a final attempt to catch up.
#
He could not stop; he dared not. If he were to stop he might be forced to think beyond the moment, and to consider the terrible emptiness that the future might hold. Oropher had been searching for his sons for almost two days now and with every minute that passed the dark shadow of their possible loss clutched tighter at his heart.
They had finally been able to track his children to a treacherous ford on the Brilthor about twelve miles east of where it ran into the Gelion. Frighteningly, the trail abruptly ended there. They had searched both sides of the river for several miles in each direction, and had been able to find no trace of his children after that point. The only explanation that made sense at this point was if they had fallen into the river. It was a thought that drove a spike of fear through his heart and forced his strides homeward to quicken.
The waters of the lower Brilthor were always swift and dangerous, and with the recent rains they were even more so. There was no telling how far a person falling in would be washed down stream. If they were forced to start searching near the boarders of Ossiriand, they would need to be armed. Because of this, Oropher and several others had returned to retrieve their weapons.
Oropher had another reason for returning briefly at this point; he hoped to enlist further help. Most Green elves had considerable training when it came to tracking, but there were some where natural talent, instinct and training were combined in a way that made their skills seem almost magical. Henorchal a good friend of his was one of these people. He had been off hunting when Doriflen and Thranduil had first disappeared, but Oropher was hoping that he had returned by now.
He rushed on praying that the small part of his heart that whispered of hope and the eventual rescue of his sons whole and alive, spoke true, and not the dark warnings from a past that had already seen too much loss and pain.
#
Though exhausted from his long ordeal, and disappointed at never having caught up to his brother, Thranduil forced his aching legs to sprint the last starlit mile to the talan. He rushed up the steps calling to his brother as he burst thru the entrance and collided with his father. "Adar?" he looked up and stammered in surprise.
He was shocked; he had not expected to find his father at home. He knew his father; he could never sit at home while others searched for his sons. His father had grasped him by the shoulders and was speaking to him, but he was unable to focus on the words. Instead he kept twisting about seeking a glimpse of his missing brother… he had to be here. When he still did not see him, he finally looked up in bewilderment; "Ada, where is Doriflen?"
Oropher's brows knit in confusion. When he had glanced out from high in the talan and seen his youngest running across the clearing, his heart had leapt with joy. He had rushed down to meet him thinking that his nightmare had come to an end at last. He had assumed that Doriflen would be appearing as magically as his brother just had until the child had blurted out his odd question. Where was Doriflen, and why would Thanduil expect to find him at home?
"Ion-nín he is not here. I had thought that he was with you. I have been searching for you both for days now, tell me what has happened? Why would you think that he is here?" Oropher felt his heart draw tight; something was very wrong. "Come, sit down and tell me everything."
He sat down with the boy on a small divan and listened intently. It took Thranduil awhile to tell the full story, and during that time Henorchal arrived and was standing nearby listening with a slight frown on his face as the tale ended, while Ansa hovered and fussed over Thranduil.
It was possible that Thranduil had been right in his assumption that Doriflen had decided to play some game with him on the way home. If so, they could backtrack Thranduil's trail, and find where the path's diverged they could then track Doriflen down from that point. It was even possible that his eldest could come sauntering thru the door at any minute. If that was the case, Oropher would be taking him to task over the matter of leaving his younger brother alone, especially so close to the border. Unfortunately, that explanation just did not feel right to him.
The last time that Thranduil had actually seen his brother, they had been right on the border. That fact alone was very disturbing. There was a reason that the search party had decided to arm itself; since the fall of Dorath, orc activity along the borders of Ossirand had become a regular problem.
Oropher stood reaching for his weapons his mind made up. "Ansa, I need you to take care of Thranduil and to also send a message to the search party on the Brilthor explaining what has happened. If we have not returned with Doriflen by the time that they arrive back here, have them follow our trail and join us in the search. Henorchal and I will leave immediately to try and find Doriflen's trail by backtracking Thranduil's path."
"Adar, I want to come with you, I want to help." The young elf's eyes pleaded with his father to let him come. He felt terrible, what if Doriflen had been injured on the way home, and he had unknowingly passed him by.
Orophir paused; he could see in his son's eyes what he was thinking, but he could not let him come. The child was clearly exhausted and they would be moving fast. Besides, if something serious had befallen his brother, he did not want his young son to see it. "No, you are exhausted, you must stay here. Besides, if you come with us who will greet your brother if he passes us by another path and arrives home first?"
"Ansa will be here." Thranduil stated with confidence.
Oropher shook his head ruefully. Children; sometimes they seemed completely devoid of any common sense, and yet they could always pick out the slightest flaw in logic when it suited their desires. "No, you must remain, and that is final."
Thranduil's shoulders drooped and he could not hide his disappointment as he nodded in acceptance… there was never any point arguing with his father once his mind was made up.
Grasping his son's shoulder, Oropher added. "Fear not, all will be well." And with that he turned to leave, praying that he was not giving false hope.
#
The brilliant light of day could not pierce the murky shadows where the young elf hung from the gnarled limb of a stunted oak. The overhang of a shallow cave forced the top of the old tree to lean outward desperately stretching a few branches up thru the seemingly impenetrable canopy above in an effort to grasp an occasional glimpse of the sun. The thick tangle of surrounding forest crowded within about six yards of the entrance, forming an apparently impenetrable wall that closed off the area, shutting out the light and the rest of the world.
It was private; they could take their time here. The orcs had chosen well.
Doriflen could barely reach the ground with the tips of his boots, and could feel the course ropes digging into the soft flesh of his wrists. He flexed his hands in an effort to relieve the discomfort and restore the circulation to his numb hands, but it just caused him to slowly twist where he dangled. With his legs once again bound together, he could not stop the motion and found it unnerving.
The orcs had driven him throughout the night, taking delight in tripping him and then punishing him for falling and slowing them. When they had finally arrived at their destination, he had been left hanging from the gnarled oak while they went about lighting a fire and devouring a crude meal. He watched with trepidation as they finished and once again focused their attentions on him. His heart started to race as the largest of the orcs approached him, a long jagged knife in his hand.
Dugbúrz reached out grabbing Doriflen by the side of his tunic and giving it a sharp tug and spinning him like a top. After several rotations, he caught the young elf by his long hair jerking him to a stop and pressing up close behind him. "Well my pretty," he sneered into the delicate leaf shaped ear "we went easy on you yesterday, but we have the time to make it up to you now." He could feel the slender body tremble under his touch and chuckled in satisfaction; the young ones were so much fun. He turned Doriflen around and brought up his knife running is lightly down the pale cheek and neck before starting to cut away his leather jerkin and light tunic. "Ready to play?"
#
The glare of the setting sun reflected off the surface of the Gelion in myriad colors that dazzled the eyes. It was a sight of beauty that was lost on the two elves standing on the eastern shore.
"I am sorry Mellon-nín, but there can be no doubt; he has been taken." Henorchal hated speaking the words that he new would pierce his friend's heart as surely as the sharpest blade. To make matters worse, it had taken them longer than he would have liked to finally discover the grim truth. "These marks are about a day and a half old and lead back across the ford."
The tightness in Oropher's chest made it difficult to breathe. How could this be happening? The thought of his child in the hands of orcs was unbearable and set a raging fire burning in his heart. He barely suppressed the urge to rush headlong in pursuit, turning instead to Henorchal. "Can you tell how many there are?"
"Eight; perhaps nine." Henorchal turned a sympathetic gaze on his friend, he new what he was thinking. "It will be difficult, but if we are not rash, and are careful to maintain the element of surprise we have a chance of success." He reached out and grasped Oropher's shoulder in a firm commanding grip. "You must harness the fire of your soul no matter what we find. If you do not exercise caution, your son will be the first to pay the price." He sighed and relaxed his hold. "I will mark our trail so the others may follow swiftly; we may need them if this band is joined by another group, but we will press on without delay."
Oropher met Henorchal's eyes and nodded in gratitude. "Thank you Mellon-nín, I will not forget this."
Henorchal inclined his head in return. "Come; let's go get your son."
#
There was no light, no beauty; all was dark horror and pain. The world that he had known was gone, replaced by this living nightmare. His only escape was the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness, and they sought to deign him even that.
"Give him some more." Dugbúrz barked.
Doriflen could feel a burning sensation that flowed from his throat to his stomach dragging him once again towards dreadful reality. It alerted his senses, and caused his heart to race. Every sensation was amplified especially touch… and the incredible pain that went with that. He still hung from the same tree that he had been tied to over two days ago, and the agony in his arms and shoulders now radiated down around his chest wrapping vise like and constricting his breathing. The bleeding welts from numerous floggings overlapped each other almost obscuring the deeply bruised flesh beneath.
He had no hope; it had been the first casualty. He could not escape their cruel games, which tore at his mind as well as his body. He knew nothing but pain, terror and despair. He wanted it to stop, but what he wanted mattered little in this hellish world.
Dugbúrz stepped near pressing his foul face close and inhaling deeply. "I can smell your fear, you weak sniveling coward." He chuckled running his claws down Doriflen's neck and chest eliciting a whimper from the shuddering young elf. "Of course, the fear will sweeten your flesh, so I should not complain." He added with an evil sneer.
Doriflen could not help the tears that welled from his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He was ashamed and hated himself for being so weak. He did not want to cry. He did not want to scream. Yet he had. Every time they revived him there were new terrors, and more pain. He could not help crying; he could not help screaming.
Everything he had ever believed about himself had been shattered in the face of the power that the orcs now wielded over him. His strength, his cleverness, his superiority, his power… it was nothing, a mere illusion. He would do anything to stop what was happening, and yet nothing that he could do would stop this hell. They had all the power. They controlled him completely. They owned him now… he was nothing.
He watched in rising alarm as he saw Dugbúrz stride to the fire and draw forth a long twisted spike from the flames, its tip glowing red.
The orc grinned in anticipation as he stalked forward with it held before him. "You look like you might be getting cold hanging there runt, want a bit of heat?" With that he ran the glowing tip from Doriflen's shoulder down across his abdomen to his hip.
Doriflen's screams mixed with the harsh laughter from the watching orcs who were now crowding close . He was sobbing for breath, shaking his head, and crying softly 'No' over and over again as Dugbúrz raised the rod up again.
The big orc suddenly grabbed him by the hair hissing in his face. "Seen enough of this life maggot? Shall I dry those weak sniveling tears for you permanently?" He raised the smoldering rod up and very slowly started to move it towards the terrified young elf's eye. "Well, brat. Shall I?"
Doriflen was felt panic explode in his heart… the monster intended to blind him! "No! Please no!... I will do anything please stop…" His hysterical pleading continued, but the Orc just laughed and slowly continued.
He could feel the heat on his cheek, and the smell of burning hair filled his nostrils as a few loose strands shriveled against the fury tip. He screamed and tried to pull away without success when Dugbúrz suddenly dropped the rod and fell back clutching at an arrow protruding from his neck.
The orcs turned in confusion as two more fell instantly to well place shafts, squealing and starting to scatter as two elves leapt from the concealing tangle of the surrounding forest.
Auburn hair streaming behind like a living flame, Oropher released his arrow felling one more orc before drawing his sword and rushing forward.
Henorchal followed close on his heels releasing two arrows at once, and felling two more orcs before drawing his long hunting knife. He engaged the orc closest to him as Oropher charged the last two remaining orcs.
The orc closest to Orophir turned to fight, but the last orc darted off to the side in an effort to escape thru a slight gap near the old oak. He raised his spear as he fled intending to slay the helpless young elf dangling there as he passed by.
Oropher, seeing the danger to Doriflen smashed the pommel of his sword into the face of the orc he was battling, knocking it sprawling as he spun away drawing his hunting knife. Throwing it with deadly accuracy, it pierced the orc thru the base of his skull and dropped him instantly. He then rushed towards Doriflen, his only thought to release his injured child, forgetting the sprawled orc behind him.
Doriflen's relief at seeing his father's appearance and the rapid decimation of the band of orcs, turned to horror as he saw the last orc rise behind Oropher, raising its blade to strike from behind. "Ada!"
Hearing the terrified shout, Henorchal spun, leaving his knife buried to the hilt in the heart of the orc he had just vanquished. He drew his bow and nocked an arrow in one swift motion, sending it winging for the treacherous beast. It struck home just as the orc was lunging forward, striking it between the shoulder blades, and piercing its evil heart. As he fell, the blade dropped from the orc's limp claws falling only inches short of its intended victim.
Orophir continued on towards his son, casting a brief glace behind and nodding in gratitude towards his friend. He quickly resheathed his sword and recovering his knife from the fallen orc, severed the bonds his son hung from. He caught him and gently lowered him, his heart twisting at the whimper of painful distress that ensued from even the gentlest of handling.
Doriflen cried out as his father cut him free. It was hard to imagine his arms and shoulders hurting more than they had before, but as his father lowered them to his sides and laid him down pain lanced like molten shards through his whole upper body. His many other injuries screamed in protest against even the tenderest touch. He could see his father's face bent over him and thought he heard his name being called, but everything seemed distorted. His head swam as dark spots began to cloud his vision once more. As consciousness faded a part of his mind quelled in terror wondering if perhaps the rescue he had just witnessed had been no more than a cruel illusion.
"Hold on Ion-nín you are safe." Oropher called softly to the boy in his arms as he held him gently rocking back and forth. He was horrified at the sight of his bleeding and broken child, and felt a sense of dread and rising panic as he watched the pain filled eyes roll back and flutter shut. The Valar could not be so cruel as to let him loose his son after finally finding him again, but the deep scars he still bore from the loss of his wife warned him that life could be brutal indeed.
Henorchal knelt by them, gently examining Doriflen's injuries. "He is only unconscious mellon-nín." He paused and added, "Perhaps it is for the best, the pain would be too great for him otherwise. Stay with him, and I will build a litter so that we can bear him out of this place. We must to get him to a healer."
Oropher nodded in gratitude as he continued to rock the battered body in his arms while barely holding back the tears that shimmered in his eyes. He would hold on to the hope that they could get his child to a healer, and that in time he would be fully healed… he could not bear the thought of any other conclusion.
Despite the difficulties of bearing a litter thru the dense forest and rugged terrain of Taur-im-Duinath, the two elves were able to quickly cover the distance back to the ford. Oropher could not help but ponder the differences between this journey and their original pursuit thru these same woods. The path of destruction left by the orcs was easy to see, but their disorganized travel had made things very difficult. It was not uncommon for two or more of the orcs to leave the path of the main group, later rejoining it. Since Doriflen's soft prints were frequently tramped and obscured by the orcs, it was necessary to explore these divergent paths. Henorchal also had to stop and study the returning tracks to be certain that they were from the original band of orcs, and that additional orcs were not joining the group. Every stop had grated on his nerves increasing his anxiety over what might be happening to his son.
Now that they could race ahead without delay his anxiety was undiminished. Doriflen had yet to recover consciousness, and had developed a fever which caused him to thrash against the bonds that they had been forced to bind him to the litter with. The possibility of poison in addition to the terrible injuries struck deep, filling his heart with a fear that no amount of speed could banish.
As they finished crossing the ford, Henorchal paused. "We may return by the same path that we came, however I would recommend that we cut south of Emyngwanûn instead of taking the direct path thru them. There is a small community in that direction just five miles beyond the hills. Maenesta lives amongst them, and she is a healer of great skill."
The community that Henorchal mentioned was far from Oropher's home, but it was only half a days travel: one third the distance. Though he would have preferred to take Doriflen to the healer whom he had known back when he still lived in Dorath, they did not have the luxury of time. "If you trust her skills, then I will put my faith in your opinion. You have led me well thus far; I do not doubt that my son would already be dead if it were not for you." He nodded in gratitude as he bent to lift his end of the litter. "Hannon-lé ."
"There is no need for thanks my friend," Henorchal nodded back with an understanding smile. "I do not doubt that you would do the same for me if our roles were reversed." Lifting up his end of the litter, they set out once more.
They traveled a short ways back down the trail past the great elm towards the pass. As they prepared to leave this path, Henorchal paused briefly to mark a nearby tree. The simple set of shallow scratches was his unique mark, combined with a hunter's mark of victory. Other searchers finding this as they followed behind would know that the search for the missing boy had been successful, and they could then return home.
TBC