"The way I see it," Anguelen told Thraknash as he dug around for something in one of his bags, "is that we've all been through a rather nasty shock. Such unfortunate business, that slaughter back there. Only natural that everyone's a bit stranger than usual." His whole arm disappeared, and a look of satisfaction crossed his face. "But we'll get through this. Look how wide the sky is. How open the ground. And even if our road shuts before us, we'll force it open."
Thraknash looked around. They were back at the edge of the less-than-forest where the mercifully overcast sky was indeed wide, but the terrain was uneven and had little thickets here and there. He supposed it was open compared to what Anguelen had had before, and certainly more open than some of his own forest adventures recently: besides, Anguelen was right, they'd somehow keep going. It was all they could do.
Then Anguelen pulled his arm back with a length of rope and a determined smirk. "I think we all need some time and care to recover from all this. Time we lack for now, but with this, I'm well prepared to provide some special care. Oh, Grishtakh!"
It seemed that the hole punched through Grishtakh's wall of dimness had yet to shut, for he looked at Anguelen with some actual nervousness for what was to come. Nevertheless, he approached on unsteady feet. "Y-yes?"
"Can't adventure properly without a good bit of rope, now can we," said Anguelen with obscene cheer and pulled the rope taut between his fists. A cold yet inviting glow, much like a winter's sun after too much heat, lit his eyes. "Now submit to me, my dear companion of the road. For this is the only kind of healing I can give thee."
Grishtakh dropped the sack he had been heaving upon his shoulder, mouth agape. "You... you'll tie me with that?"
Anguelen's smile finally turned kind as he nodded. "And gag your unruly mouth, too."
Since there was no one else near enough, Grishtakh took his own hand to calm himself. "And, does it..." he swallowed. "Does it count as having it off?"
"Well now... You must think whatever makes you happy." The glow in Anguelen's eyes grew more intense. "Now come. It is time. Take it like a man, for today I will make you one."
The others watched with a sense of resignation as Grishtakh nervously smoothed his clothes, slicked his hair, did a quick breath check and did indeed walk up to Anguelen to take his binding like a man. There were some that tried to be understanding: of course one such as him had to take his opportunities where he could, though it did make for disturbing moments such as this. Or the four-legged thing that must not be mentioned anytime soon. But no matter. Soon Grishtakh was bound and gagged and ready to be tossed over Anguelen's shoulder, and the ensuing silence was blissful enough to make up for almost any horror in the daylight.
"Let me," said Thraknash, reaching for the already squirming bundle of ploy. His eyes were shadowed even in the morning-light. "I can at least do this much. Let me... shoulder at least one burden myself."
Anguelen looked into the eyes of his Orkish lover, by now perhaps with actual love involved. He could see his pain of perceived uselessness had yet to leave. With compassion and gentleness he had not mustered in entire centuries, he took Thraknash's hand and gave him a genuine smile. "Very well, my dear. I bound him, you shoulder him. Together we bear him."
Gutbrúg nudged Burzum's side, voice dropped to a whisper. "After that, I'll never call you ridiculous again!" He nudged again. "Burzum?" And Gutbrúg looked up and was greeted by the sight of his best friend actually wiping tears from his eyes. "...I've underestimated you again, mate."
"Be quiet, Gutbrúg, lest you drown out the singing of my heart."
"I suppose that'll work," Ghâshsag sighed. "If it keeps some of us happy. Can we continue to the bridge now?"
Anguelen glanced at the sky and treetops. It was odd how quickly the land had changed during their night of horrors. It had been dark, then it was not, and yet this darkness clung to the land itself now. Although strawberries grew in this area of the Lone-Lands, here where a fell northern wind seemed to have flown down from the lingering ruins of Angmar itself, it was as if the summer was over.
"Lovely, actually," Anguelen and Burzum said at the same time. With a friendly hand on the gloomy goblin's shoulder, Anguelen continued alone. "And no sign of the flying turds, either. Now towards the bridge!"
Thraknash tossed Grishtakh over his shoulder, enduring the delighted squeal which no gag could suppress. Moglurz had already had Krazum for a fairly long time on his back by now and was grateful for the opportunity to move: and where he went with Krazum, Gruzlak was right at his heels. The others went along with this spearhead, throwing wary glances at their surroundings. Mercifully, it seemed that the crows had kept their part of the peace deal after all: for now, the band's journey was not rendered excrementially worse as they made their way towards the river and out of the lives of all that lived on this side of the Last Bridge.
"Well, that was quick and uneventful," commented Anguelen as he stopped at another thicket to peer at the three-arched bridge.
Eldehto cringed. "Taunt misfortune in such manner, and it will come," he admonished, eyes fixed upon the westward side of the Road and its surroundings. Spying no movement there, he felt some tension leave his shoulders, but turned his eyes towards the awaiting east and gained it all back with a vengeance. Then, without having to be told, he anxiously climbed the nearest tree and began to once more survey the land.
"Well thought, it's good to see if there's someone on the bridge or the road," Anguelen mused, stroking the hilt of his sword. "I have an idea in case we want to avoid a battle. Do we?"
Gutbrúg eyed Anguelen's sword with a glint of self-preservation instinct. "Do we even have any choice there with Krazum unable to fight?"
The others spared Gutbrúg a dry glance. His tone certainly had taken a turn lately when it came to Krazum. With a quiet sigh, they all returned as one to the waiting Road; who knew where Gutbrúg's thing was going to go, so they could only go forward and see.
"Do tell us your plan while we wait for your brother, lad," Moglurz suggested.
A hungering fire for the dramatics lit within Anguelen's eyes. "Well, I thought if we come across anyone who might not like the idea of Orcs walking these lands, I could pretend I'm performing one final duty for Middle-earth, trying to reform some of its darkest children. I would look oh so very wise and noble and star-touched and the rest of you would look so suffering in these waning days that people would have no choice but to feel a twinge of pity for the enemy, thus making them more susceptible to my deception, if you can even call it that, that is - after all, it's more fun when you technically speaking aren't telling lies and the success lies in suggestion and having the listener come to his own conclusions," Anguelen explained, that fire seemingly burning at the edges of his very sanity, "and I would make mournful references to us coming across a band of Warg-riders in the wilderness and glance at Krazum with profound sadness, and they would think we were attacked as well, and it would just roll from there like a round rock down a hill. Oh it would be so glorious! Will all of you help me perform it if the opportunity arises?"
With some difficulty, Moglurz freed an arm to scratch his face. "How long do you spend thinking of these ideas of yours?"
"Oh, three hundred years or so."
With even more difficulty, but it had to be done, Moglurz shrugged. "Then I suppose we'll just have to perform this one if the time comes."
This seemed to make Anguelen very happy, and he leaned against Thraknash in deep planning. The full force of the sun chose this moment to pierce through the passing grey clouds and bathe the world below in its hell-glow, still old and potent here in the lingering shadows of Angmar. The Orcs groaned. It had been rather easy to cross such a short distance to the next thicket under the temporary covering, but the rest of the journey looked like it was going to be painful; and yet they had to make it, lest they risk the crows refilling their arse-nals and coming back for some more dirty fighting.
When Eldehto descended from his current tree, ready to report his findings, he found most of the band covering their heads with towels or cloaks. He hadn't really been listening to his brother's unhinged ravings, but now he rather wished that he had, because if the plan was to pass over the bridge as simple travellers, in his eyes a bunch of obvious Orcs with towels didn't exactly work. If anything, it made them look every bit the lunatics the Warg-band had accused them of being. Well, no matter: like he quickly reported, the Last Bridge and Great East Road were both empty right now and all they had to do was cross the bridge and run for the cover of, yes, yet another forest.
"That'll be the old Trollshaws, if I still remember my maps," Moglurz said, adjusting Krazum on his back. "Perhaps my love would recall them better?"
Sharrásh shifted. "Trollshaws... in the ruins of Rhudaur." He turned his eyes north-east as if physically reading a map. "The river leads to Ettenmoors. Troll country. And higher up in the north, Orc country. I... remember."
"Yes," Eldehto interjected, "my father would tell me about this area when we visited Rivendell. Cautionary tales, mostly." There was a small amount of hurt pride in the glance he gave to the old pair. "I've crossed that bridge before, haven't I told? We took a much shorter road to get there and never strayed towards the northern lands, but I have been here."
"Ah, yes. You did," Moglurz spoke with a kind tone. "Then I give my apologies. You won't see fair Rivendell this time."
This truth finally sinking in here on the threshold of the known seemed to stop Eldehto's thoughts from running any further. A gloom of his very own descended on him under the sunlight, and although Burzum seemed tempted to swoon at the sight, this time he controlled himself out of consideration. "Hmm. I suppose it had to be this way." The look Eldehto gave to the Orc-band was rather ambiguous as he mulled this over, but then his eyes fell on little Gruzlak and cleared somewhat with embarrassment. "Well... we're going to see new lands, aren't we? It's good to have new experiences, as long as they're not terrible." He glanced at the treetops and shuddered. "Such as this one. I'll be glad to leave this one behind."
Anguelen grinned. "You're the only one here without any bird shit on, by the way. I suppose you're the last proper Elf in the group."
"Don't say such things!" With a grimace, Eldehto motioned the at Road. "Now, please, before someone appears..."
"Fine, fine. I do so enjoy talking, but now it's time to shup up and move on. Next stop: Trollshaws!"
With that, the band took off with this clear and pure sense of goal and destination, against the recently reappeared sunlight and any possible yet to be revealed enemies on the road or the wilderness. Although their ordeal had taken a great toll on them, there was once again also a great hope in their ability to somehow squirm out of any trouble that might come. Of course, they looked even more bizarre and ridiculous than usual right now, but when had that ever stopped them?
For all the stalling they had done before crossing this last of bridges, the actual crossing part of it was utterly uneventful. The bridge obviously saw a lot of use at some time of the day, judging by the amount of mud upon it, but for now there was nothing. Eldehto did feel something peculiar as he looked at the mud, as though something should have happened or been found, but still there was nothing. The band did agree to come back in the dark to find a way to wash their disgusting clothes in the river. Although its water sounded quite wild, they could probably lower Grishtakh there with a bucket or something. (Whether any of them actually had a bucket hidden somewhere, that remained to be seen.)
This land was quite hilly compared to before. Hilly and chilly. It actually made them (well, perhaps not Eldehto) rather cheerful to see all these signs of broken civilisations lost to darker powers. Anguelen even noticed some promising ruins in the distance and had to be talked out of a disturbing fit of excitement, although at least his energy was good for leading the others onwards when someone else tired of the lead: and sure enough, he led them right down some depressing little valley as if as a personal metaphor for his own descent. And although their road had for the most part also been metaphorical to begin with, this narrow ravine filled with sharp rocks and dead trees lying about like a bunch of groaning drunks in a hallway was so far removed from a walkable road as to be a mockery of the very concept.
"Good exercise, this," Gutbrúg noted, climbing over a rock. This time there were no suspicious mushrooms or weird slimes to snack on, so he was in a far better shape to do so.
"I even feel a song upon my tongue once more," agreed Burzum as he admired the joyless landscape and ominous murk on the air. The others couldn't bear to tell him to keep it to himself, and he rewarded their kindness by keeping his mouth shut of his own accord.
When Burzum and Gutbrúg found out just how much exercise and inspiration they were about to have, they found themselves a little less happy about it. First the band had accepted that they would not be going back to the bridge with Anguelen pulling them unyieldingly towards the eastern ruins, and then Sharrásh had suddenly woken up from his travel-trance to get it into his inexorable head that they would all be going his unknowable way. At least he had proven his ability to know both maps and practical geography, so there was a good chance he wouldn't be leading them into anything horrible that wasn't at least followed by something beneficial. The others would come to regret this stance a bit when he would only be stopped for Krazum waking up long enough to empty his bladder and then finally to stop to sleep because it was actually fucking nightfall again, but by that point they were so disgusted with him that they could not even express it in words. Instead they quickly set up camp and hoped Moglurz was enough to keep his thoughtless pillock of a husband still for the night. Krazum was laid down and treated with the salve Ghâshsag had made earlier. Grishtakh was finally released from his bondage, and Thraknash was sure he didn't want to know whether his dizzy look was from having his head down or because he was still unsatisfied or maybe in love or something.
"Shame about that river being so far behind, though," Gutbrúg muttered, pointedly ignoring the way Sharrásh still stared at the east. "Even I don't particularly enjoy being covered in bird shit."
"Well, it looks like it might rain soon," grumbled Burzum, who had discovered that he enjoyed the concept of dark, misty valleys more than actually experiencing them.
Grishtakh, on the other hand, gleefully focused on the fire Ghâshsag was finally allowed to make after a long pause. "You could've burned a bridge rather literally back there!" he pointed out.
But Ghâshsag found no comfort in the embers or in the presence of his friend. He stared at the meagre flames he had practically conjured out of the humidity of the air, and his look was pained. "I'd just remember Bert again. Somehow it's harder now to keep those thoughts away."
Gutbrúg nodded nigh-deliriously, rubbing a spot where the rope had bitten him a little too fervently. "I think so too! You know, I'd almost forgotten what that Elf said in that other Elf's hut when we first set out - not just that your Bert was gone, but that there was a battle, so now I'm thinking just how many of our old friends..."
Without a word, the other goblins were upon Grishtakh and gagged him again: all their friends and family would be fine and the matter would not be discussed. As for Grishtakh, he would just have to manage without supper that evening, but it wasn't as though he'd spent very much energy being carried, anyway. Moglurz and Sharrásh exchanged a glance and a thought. Thraknash passed out next to Anguelen, having said very little during the night part of the journey. Eldehto kept his word and told Gruzlak stories until they too fell asleep next to the still heavily unconscious Krazum.
Moglurz and Sharrásh shared another look. It didn't start raining after all.
When morning was upon them again, the old pair still sat in that same spot watching the sky change above, only Moglurz occasionally leaning to stoke the fire. Down here ensconced between towering cliffs and pining trees it was dark and safe, though a little warmer would have been nice. It was no Mordor, but then again, could anything ever again be? Moglurz finally stood up to pull out some food from one of the backpacks to start cooking breakfast. The rest of the band slowly woke up to the smells coming from the fire; even Krazum, much to Moglurz's relief, though he tried not to make too much of a fuss about it. Krazum himself seemed disoriented and unrecovered. There was not much else to do for now but to let him continue to sleep the worst of it off.
In fact, once they set off again, there was not much to do in this forest at all. At least travel wasn't too difficult for them with the Elves being so light on their feet and the Orcs being built for this sort of persistence and speedy travel. And a good thing it was, as Sharrásh had begun to drag them towards some goal of his own once more. What was it with him and creepy little forests like this, anyway? Moglurz probably knew, but no one hoped for him to actually tell them anything.
Hope... such a distant-seeming little concept in this part of the world. The day went by much like the previous one, the narrow valleys and rocks and trees flying past with decreasing speed as they finally tired of the ancient one's merciless pace: and still he kept going, would not let them rest, would not stop even when they started whinging and moaning and cursing and the night was long fallen.
"Say, would it be too much to ask what exactly you're trying to do here?" asked Anguelen, one of the few with enough strength to waste on talking. His tone wasn't too patient: he had already been persuaded to be a good person for the day and carry Krazum, and the responsibility for another living being any longer than said day was starting to make him angry.
Sharrásh stopped as if he had physically hit a wall.
"A bit of fucking consideration," Anguelen growled into his ear, having barely avoided crashing into his back. "While being sandwiched between two Orcs like this is a pleasant idea, some preparation would be welcome."
"I smell," mused Sharrásh, "an old track."
Anguelen's eyes narrowed as the rest of the band started to reach them, panting and sweating. "I think I told you you've got a lovely voice. You really should use it more often."
"What he's trying to say," offered Moglurz, possibly a little tired of his husband's shit as well, "is that he's familiar with this place and is taking us out the fastest way he can. After some sightseeing."
Ghâshsag let out a long, shuddering sigh and fought to keep his burdens on his shoulders. "Well, at least next time we sleep, it'll be during daytime..."
"Diurnal to nocturnal, as is proper," Burzum panted and fought to keep his dignity.
"What sights are we here to see, then?" asked Gutbrúg and fought to keep his breakfast inside him.
Amidst all this fighting, Sharrásh was the very bastion of pacifism: tireless and relentless, needing nothing and demanding everything, he pointed at a patch of moonlit ground the others had missed in their annoyance. "That path in this pathless land. I wish to walk it."
The others looked in mild surprise. It was indeed a path. Not made by Men of old, Elves or even Orcs, but something much larger and heavier. Tree and stone itself had made way for the ones who had walked this path, and now Sharrásh wanted to take it.
Anguelen shrugged as much to show his indifference as to adjust Krazum on his back. "Well, you should've just said so. Let's go see."
With all the time they had already spent on their roadless road, what was a little more on this unknown path? This knowledge of destination gave them the strength to pass the last fir-trees and rocky hills until they came across something bizarre: a door in the stone. The others would have stopped there to scratch their heads and maybe start bothering whoever it could be in there in such a place, but Sharrásh was still not satisfied.
"I must see," he all but whispered now, continuing down the wider sloped path, "with my own eyes."
If the others had been given energy by knowing that there would eventually be a point where Sharrásh would stop, now knowing they were still not done absolutely sapped them of strength. Not that they could do anything about it. The thought of being separated again made most of them shudder. Almost clinging to each other now, they stumbled the rest of the path to a sudden eyeful of moonlight in an old clearing that was beginning to grow shut at the edges. And in the clearing...
"Manwë hear my prayer," Eldehto whispered, moving to shield Gruzlak.
"No need, they don't look alive," Anguelen panted, having finally exhausted himself.
"'Trolls left out in the sun' indeed," Gutbrúg muttered and glanced at Krazum.
For Trolls they were, an unfortunate bunch - by birth, according to some, and by having been caught in the daylight according to others with a little bit more empathy for creatures of Darkness. The band consisted of a volatile mix of both qualities, but neither presented itself at the moment. An eternal and unknowable silence was upon the Trolls now, and even their faces had come to look as though they had always been carved out of some unholy bedrock. For now they all could only stare with awe or at least keen interest at the stone that had once been life.
Apart from Grishtakh, who seemed to be just begging for a second go with the rope and the gag. "Blimey, Sharrásh, are they related to you?"
