Glorfindel and Elrohir are woken rather harshly the next few days and forced to travel once again at a quick jog in order to stay caught up with the orcs dragging them along. The second day goes by with little conversation and is uneventful as the two elves are both much too lost in thought and coming up with schemes to escape. On the third day, the golden-haired warrior feels even more exhausted than the days before and while coughs have yet to consume him his throat burns as if he hasn't had water in weeks. Not to mention his stomach feels uncomfortably tight nearly making him nauseous, although that could very well be from the grog rather than the poison.
The younger elf is quiet as they travel, he looks nearly as tired as the injured elf beside him. Glorfindel wouldn't be surprised if he suffers from a nasty headache that the constant jarring of moving is doing little to help. Not that his own wounds are doing much better as they seem intent on oozing more blood every time he moves wrong despite how many times Elrohir looks after them. The small cuts, which have healed enough to be comparable to a paper cut, are no more than an afterthought. A mild sting in the background of everything else. His arm burns fiercely from the hole in his bicep getting yanked at constantly by the rope tethered to his hands. The other arrow wound above his hip fairs no better, while he is luckily it had only entered muscle it still throbs painfully every time he puts weight on his left side. Then there is the large gash dug into his side that has continued to sting and bleed the entire time they've been moving nearly turning the bandage wrapped tightly around it a bright red.
He knows his state will get no better and spends the silence trying to come up with a means of escape. He realized some hours ago, while they had been able to sneak up on the three elves orcs are still dimwitted creatures. A few yards behind them moves a small sniveling orc that often gets pushed and shoved by the bigger ones around it. The only reason Glorfindel had even paid the pitiful creature any mind was due to the objects gripped in its filthy long claws. Right behind them is their weapons. He has been pondering on a plan to obtain them and then escape that won't end with them dead or worse for wear but so far has come up short.
Although a glimmer of hope swells in his breast when he sees the plain dip ahead and the Glanduin shine brightly in the sunlight only a few miles away. A crude makeshift bride seems to have been built over the river and he realizes that is where they must be heading. He has been able to make out some of the black speech that floats between the orcs. He has learned much the past few hours of silence and planning. He had been correct, they are being taken to a larger camp. While he can't be sure what their full intention behind their capture is, he knows it has something to with Imladris. He glances at the young elf briefly whose own dark eyes are focused on the ground staring ahead distractedly. He can not allow the orcs to take Elrohir further than the bridge. Whatever awaits them will not be pleasant and the large trees looming on the over side of the river leave a strange feeling of dread to fill him. The young elf does not deserve to suffer at the hands of these foul creatures who have already broken him once by taking away his mother. He promised Lord Elrond, the moment the twins were born, that he would protect them with his life as he has done for the family for centuries. He will not see that promise broken no matter what.
He formulates a quick plan, realizing the river ahead is exactly what they need for an escape plan to work. The Glanduin cuts deep through the plain it's banks near comparable to small cliffs as they fall away into the fast rushing water. It is not a terribly dangerous river but swift enough it could carry someone downstream in the blink of an eye. If his plan works both of them should able to use it as a means of quick escape from the orcs, at the very last he swears to make it one for Elrohir. Knowing the young elf needs to be filled in on the plan for it to work correctly he keeps his voice low as he speaks slowly, ensuring only the elven ears beside him can hear his words.
"The bridge ahead. We need to jump off it. The Glanduin will carry us far enough downstream we can safely get out and make way back towards Imladris. Listen carefully, roughly eight steps behind a small orc holds our weapons. I can take the pathetic little thing out with my hands and retrieve our blades. We'll have to act fast and get our bounds cut so we will not be hindered jumping into the river."
Elrohir waits a moment to respond glancing around to ensure none of the orcs are interested in the quiet conversation if they even notice it. He then turns his eyes towards the bride that is surely less than an hour away at this pace. "That plan sounds good and all but I don't see how you're going to get them to stop pulling us along like dogs," he returns with barely concealed venom filling his words.
"You will just have to trust me, no matter what do no do anything that is not part of the plan. I'll get us our swords, we cut our bounds, jump and we're free okay," Glorfindel reassures noting the unsure look sent his way but Elrohir does not say anything else. They do not want to discuss anything for too long lest they draw unwanted attention, especially when they have a semi-solid plan of escape now quickly approaching.
The golden warrior tries to still his beating heart as they draw closer to the bridge, which is really nothing more than some long planks hurriedly hammered into two large tree trunks. The sound of rushing water soon greets his ears and the old elven lord notes the same anxious feeling tugging at his chest also has the young elf beside him walking tensely. Dark eyes that look so much like his father's scan each of the orcs before them as if calculating each weakness for him to exploit. In any other situation, he would feel a burst of pride to see how skilled the kin of Turgon are in the way of strategies and many other avenues. He knows the King he had once served would be proud as well to see how strong his bloodline has remained despite the dark shadow always working to diminish its name.
As they reach the bridge the pace slows as the orcs being funneling over it some of the ones in front nearly shoving each other over into the water. As the elves' boots hit on the first plank Glorfindel meets the young elf's eyes giving him a small barely perceivable nod with a reassuring smile before suddenly collapsing. Elrohir nearly moves forward before reminding himself Glorfindel had not filled him in on the entirety of the plan forcing himself to stand still while his friend does not move.
The orc that had been leading Glorfindel turns around with an angry growl but before anything can be said or done the very orc that had been carrying their weapons comes stumbling forward nearly running over the collapsed form. It is in that moment the golden-haired elf moves, so quick none of the creatures had time for their minds to process what had happened until a sword is held in both his hands, the small orc dead at his feet. He quickly tosses one of the blades to Elrohir who instantly cuts his rope, right in the nick of time no less as the orc holding it had been about to give a nasty tug. Orcs begin to surround them from all sides and just as quickly Glorfindel has his hands free digging his sword into the nearest creature. Claws reach out towards them trying to grab hold of anything to subdue the elves but the two blades do tremendous work keeping the hands off them.
"Elrohir now!" Glorfindel shouts as his sword slices cleanly through the heart of a particularly large orc, pushing the creature back so its dead weight crashes into the others behind it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as the dark hair of Elrohir disappears over the edge of the bridge followed by a loud splash. He feels almost as if a weight is lifted off his shoulders, as he quickly moves to follow. Right as he's about to jump into the cool water as well something thick and rough wraps itself around his neck ceasing his movements. For a fleeting second his heart thumps like a drum in his chest as his panicked eyes meet the stunned ones of Elrohir being swiftly carried away down the Glanduin along with the golden-haired elf's chance of escape. The rope is tightened around his throat cutting off his airway as he's pulled back towards the middle of the bridge. He reaches up trying to relieve the pressure in any way he can but it only tightens further causing him to choke as his already aching chest burns with the need for air. He tries to get his feet under him but they are weak and unsteady from the lack of oxygen. His arms become incredibly heavy and he finds it near impossible to hold them up anymore.
As his vision begins to blur he accepts the fact he is going to once again be walking within the Halls of Mandos when the pressure around his throat disappears. He finds himself falling to the ground, no longer supported by the very thing that had been suffocating him, he hacks in fire laced breaths. If it wasn't hard for him to breathe before, it is now near agony as his every breath causes his lungs to seize and a deep wet cough to follow that burns his already swelling throat. He thanks the Valar for elven healing knowing at least the bruising that will likely adorn his neck will not last long. As his senses finally return and the haggard coughs have subsided some he realizes he's still surrounded by the orcs who look down at him with mixed looks of anger, hunger, and sadistic pleasure that nearly has a shiver coursing down his spine.
He also finds his hands are once more bound this time much tighter and behind his back, it seems these dull creatures are at least smart enough to learn from their mistakes. A large burst of anger swells in his gut when he notes that the rope has not been removed from his neck but tied in a secure knot and turned into lead. A large orc holds the end of the length a smirk of pleasure spread across his disgusting face that leaves the golden warrior seething. Now they truly do mean to lead him as if he were some stray dog and he wishes now more than ever he had the strength to kill these disgusting beasts. It would be the first time in ages he'd actually find pleasure in bringing death upon a creature.
"Get up," the orc spits tugging at the rope causing Glorfindel to growl as he simply pulls back, glaring up at the vile thing with dark eyes and determined obstinance. He defeated a Balrog in the fall of Gondolin, he will not allow these repugnant pests to win. Especially now that Elrohir is not here to suffer any consequences that may follow because of his unwavering stubbornness. He was always hard-headed in his youth and the trait is one that has not faded throughout the ages. Although he's grown and learned when one should stand up and when one should not. For example, he would never want to go toe to toe with Erestor. He's seen the councilor get angry on a few occasions and knows the advisor is as deadly with a sword as he is with his words. These orcs on the other hand, are not going to treat him like some rabid animal.
The orc does not ask again instead it pulls vehemently on the rope forcing him to his feet as he snarls bitterly wishing looks alone could kill the foul creature as the elf's usually bright eyes swirl with a haunting resentment. "I will not follow you foul beasts like some animal," he growls in the common speech so the orc can clearly understand him.
"You have no choice elf," the orc barks, wrenching once more on the makeshift lead causing Glorfindel to nearly stumble forward onto his face without the help of his hands. Gritting his teeth he swallows down the seething anger in favor of lifting his chin proudly and forcing himself to follow the orcs. In the end, he figures it is the better alternative if he does not want to get dragged by his neck, and this at least allows him to still hold a small amount of his dignity.
His thoughts run over the different ways to kill the foul creatures as he walks, he's at least relieved they are no longer running. With Elrohir safe, the young elf can get to Rivendell and ensure his brother made it there, as well as inform Elrond on the very worrying fact that a small army seems to be residing only a few days South of Imladris. As they enter the forest splaying across the land like a dark mist the same feeling of dread fills him once more. He stifles it done knowing he must stay brave, he is Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. He was once a mighty knight to King Turgon second only to his dearest friend Echtelion. He watched Gondonlin fall and while he did not necessarily live through it he is still here with the memories fresh in his mind and easily falling past his lips when in the Halls of Fire.
He wonders on that wonderful room for a while. He had not enjoyed its comforts at first, instead seeing ghosts in the dark shadows and demons in the ever-burning fires. It wasn't until centuries later that he was able to comfortably enter the room and even longer until he began to aid in his own songs and tales of ancient times. He would give anything to be there now, having the intent ears of young elves awed by the first-hand accounts of a long lost age that they could never understand quite like he can. He finds himself reminded of a song Ecthelion would often sing whenever the raven-haired elf grew bored on a long expedition. It helps keeps the golden elf's steps strong as he repeats it like a mantra in his head allowing the song of old song to give him strength as he walks towards the uncertain future ahead.