Glorfindel is woken by someone gently shaking him chasing away the horrid dreams that leave him in a cold sweat with a pounding heart. Elrohir sits over him looking slightly alarmed, "It appears they are getting ready to move."
"It will be alright," he comforts shoving down the ache of his wounds as he forces himself to sit up as well finally looking around him. A large band of orcs scuffle about as they gather their things forcing the smaller ones to carry the packs of food, barrels of grog, and bundles of spare weapons. The chill of his nightmare has not left him neither the ache in his throat that seems to have spread to his chest. Although it is not nearly as bad as the fire that had been coursing through him.
Four orcs approach them, two of them holding a bundle of rope in their clawed hands. "Get up," one of them growls in harsh westernize.
"Do as they say," Glorfindel advises quietly in their own tongue nodding slightly in thanks when Elrohir helps him to his feet. He's surprised and thankful he does not feel weaker but knows it is unlikely the poison has already run the worst of its course. The moment he's steady he stands tall glaring into the eyes of the foul creatures that approach them.
"Stay still," it spits scowling down at them while the two with rope roughly bind their hands leaving a length to lead them that leaves irritation bubbling in the golden elf's gut. He holds it down knowing there will be the opportune moment to kill these disgusting creatures in the near future. He must bide his time if he wants them to escape with any success, no matter how humiliating it may be.
Once they are securely bound the orcs holding the ropes begin walking forcing them to follow if they do not want to be yanked along. Half of the creatures walk on the wide road before them while the others march closely behind. For a second Glorfindel looks round in a slight panic realizing he does not know the fate of Asfaloth.
"Do you know what happened to the horses?" he asks quietly as the orcs quicken their pace forcing them to jog to stay caught up.
"I think I say them run off towards Imladris, with any luck they'll run into Elladan on their way home," Elrohir answers his voice tight with concealed annoyance as his rope is tugged harshly causing him to nearly stumble.
They do not speak after that for some time not wanting the evil ears surrounding them to pick up on anything important. It isn't until a few hours later as they break from the forest into a more open land that the younger elf finally speaks up. Low and quiet.
"Where do you think they are taking us?"
"I do not know, there are no strongholds that I know of in this area. They could have a camp nearby," he guesses huffing in deep breaths as he tries to keep pace with the ugly beings. His chest hurts in a way he's never felt before and his throat burns in a strange way as if he's inhaled too much smoke. He tries to clear his throat to help the growing itch but it only proves to make it worse causing a harsh cough to rattle his lungs. He stumbles slightly when another burns his chest but a quick pull at his wrists as him moving once more.
"Are you okay? You sound... sick," Elrohir whispers glancing at the golden elf in worry. Glorfindel frowns working the thought over in his head. Him. Sick? High elves aren't supposed to get sick, in fact, no elf is supposed to get sick. It is surely the work of the poison, whether it lowered has his immune system or carried some strange disease itself he can not be sure.
"I will be fine," Glorfindel reassures keeping his gaze focused on the grassy plain splayed out before them. He wishes he knew where they were heading or could very least leave some kind of clue to where they are being taken for Elrond to follow. They have stripped them of their gear and the orcs would surely notice if he dropped anything. He will simply have to trust his friends tracking skills if they can not escape before being taken wherever these foul creatures are headed.
While his body is cold, the fire remains to grip his throat and lungs leaving hacking coughs to occasionally grip him as he's forced to continue on the fast pace. Each breath burns and for the first time in his life he feels utterly exhausted after running so little distance than what he can normally handle. His thoughts turn to Elladan who was likely struck by the same kind of arrow, he's relieved to know he has a horse to ease his travels. Hopefully, he is already halfway back to Imladris by now and safely away from these foul creatures. He may even run into a patrol along the way if the Valar are looking out for them.
He's pulled from his thoughts by a ruckus behind them, apparently a fight seems to have broken out. The whole group comes to a stop as a large orc that had been near the front storms angrily to the back growling in his own harsh black speech. Glorfindel savors the moment to relax his aching muscles and strained wounds.
"What is going on?" Elrohir asks in confusion watching the brawling creatures suspiciously.
"I can't understand much but it appears the pack mules want to stop and rest," he returns with a smirk that has the younger elf stifling a laugh of amusement.
"We have been jogging the whole day, the sun will be set within the hour," he responds glancing towards the sun already sitting low in the sky. The mountains now stretch to their left with the forest behind them as they head southwards towards the Glanduin that cuts across the plain many miles ahead of them.
Another fit of coughs overtakes the golden elf causing him to double over as they seize his lungs leaving him near breathless. As it finally subsides he's surprised to find Elrohir's bound hands gripping his uninjured arm in concern. Looking around he notes the pack mules seem to have won as a small camp is being made around them leaving them in the center of a circle of orcs. The lead of their ropes has each been attached to stakes that are drove deeply into the ground. The fit must have lasted longer than he thought he realizes grimly, suddenly hating how weak his body feels more than ever.
"You are burning up," Elrohir says gravely his hands briefly brushing over the older elf's brow before pulling away and looking around, "you have a fever and need water," he adds, suddenly taking a few steps away towards the nearest orc.
"Elrohir don't," he warns, but his words as ignored as the young elf straightens, tilting his chin up as he gains the attention of the creature.
"My friend needs water, if you want to keep us alive he must stay hydrated," he speaks with resolve, and barely concealed disgust to have to even converse with such a foul being.
"He's thirsty ey?" it chuckles a malicious thing that is more a rasp than a laugh. "You hear that boys the elf's thirsty why don't you get him a drink," it orders with a smirk when a handful of orcs move forward holding Elrohir still while Glorfindel is forced to his knees.
Clawed hands dig into his jaw and face forcing his mouth open as a water skin is brought to his lips. A thick, vile liquid flows briskly down his throat causing him to nearly choke in disgust as it burns its way to his stomach. "What you elves can't handle grog," an orc above him spits with a loud howling laugh that has the old elven lord seething in anger. If his hands were not bound he's sure he would be able to kill every single orc with his rage alone.
Finally, they let go of him pushing him roughly to the ground as he's left spluttering for breath and spitting out the remaining foul liquor wishing he could rid the taste from his tongue. A moment later Elrohir is beside him warm hands once again landing on his uninjured right arm.
"Glor I'm so sorry, I should have known they would not treat us with any kindness," he apologizes bitterly causing the older elf to sit up in order to look into the guilty eyes of the elf beside him.
"Do not blame yourself, they are the foul creatures mellon. You have done nothing wrong in my eyes," he says seriously pleased when the young elf nods and relaxes in the grass beneath them. It is not as soft as the one that grows on the forest floor but is a comfortable enough bed for a night spent under the stars.
They sit together silently for some time until coughs wrack through Glorfindel once more causing Elrohir to scoot closer with a frown closing his eyes, he then puts his hands on the golden elf's and begins singing a quiet song of healing. The Vanya can't help but relax slightly as a slight warmth fills his chilled body that works to soothe his throat as well. Glancing up at the stars beginning to twinkle in the sky he finds fatigue slowly washing over him.
After a few minutes, Elrohir falls silent and the only sounds to be heard are those made by the orcs surrounding them. They do not say anything as they lay back each lost in their own thoughts for many hours into the night until they can not resist the temptation of sleep any longer.