Well, I received absolutely no reviews for that last chapter. I don't know
if that's because of the web-server being messed up from adding another
server or if because no one reviewed. I'm going to guess the second one, I
suppose. So, I have decided that from now on I won't write as quickly as I
did in the past, mainly because I believe there are few readers that follow
this story. I have deduced this because although my story has been up for
about a month, it has only received nineteen reviews; while others have
been up for about a week and have around fifty. To all who do read and
review, thank you. To all who just read, make your voice noticed! I am so
interested in hearing what people have to say about my writing; mean or
nice, I don't care. If it is helpful, it will help me realize that people
do read this and I should continue to post.
Anyway, I hope you do enjoy this chapter and I hope you will continue to
read. If not, then tell me a more suitable story so I can read it as well.
****
ELVISH DIALOGUE:
Lasto al lalaith nîn : Listen to my laughter / Henion Sindarin: I understand Sindarin / Nodo san: Bind her / Avar: Never / Daro: Stop / Lasto beth nîn: Hear my voice / Telin le thaed: I have come to help / Pedich i lam edhellen: Do you understand Sindarin? / Man eneth lîn: What is your name?
****
Haemerethwen awoke to a sharp sting upon her left cheek. The attack instantly reminded her of the previous instance as the pain returned from her bruised eye. She slowly opened her eyes, but soon found that her left eye had swollen to the point where she could not open it. The debilitating fear rose within her, but she forced her external face to remain calm and fake stability.
She looked upwards with her grey eyes at the threatening Orc standing over her; he sneered at her and shouted a few words in its disgusting language to his companions. Laughter soon followed and the Orc pointed down at her with its grubby finger, smiling and continuing to shout words to others.
"Lasto al lalaith nîn," sarcastically stated Haemerethwen with clenched teeth. An armored foot was immediately roughly planted upon the left side of her face, again forcing her to witness a stifling pain. The right side of her face was pushed into the ground as the foot pressed upon her, causing her to growl in her anger of suppression.
"Henion Sindarin," stated the Orc as he gave one last final push upon her cheek and then removed his foot. "Nodo san," he commanded with indifference. Instantly six hands grabbed onto the hurt she-Elf and another kicked her in the ribs to restrain her attempts to stop them. She was dragged over to a nearby tree where she was then bound. She spit in the Orc's face as her back was pushed onto the tree and her arms forcefully tied around it. The shoulder wound she received in the fight sharpened as her arms were brought backwards around the tree and she could feel her arm being on the verge of being separated from her shoulder. Soon her legs were also bound to the sturdy tree; her feet were shoulder width apart and the rope circled the tree around both thighs and shins to prevent her escape.
"Anguish deriving from despair arriving from forgotten memories; I shall refresh your memory," stated a thick and powerful voice. She looked upwards and paled when she caught sight of the gruesome face smiling at her. Tightening her jaw, she sternly shook her head.
"Avar," she whispered, challenging him with her eyes. He laughed at her and her efforts, the various jewelry located upon his leathered face ringing with it. He brought his calloused hand up to her right cheek, sickeningly smiling at her with broken teeth. Slowly stroking her bruise, his smile slowly faded and eyes began to cast over; his eyes focused on the blotch upon her fair features as he continued to gently rub it. Suddenly he looked into her grey eyes and tightened his lips together.
"Imperfection," he violently whispered. She hid the grimace as he began to press his thumb into her facial bruise. With one final press, he brought his hand away and turned around, beckoning an Orc to come near. It obliged and, after hearing its leader's request, handed over a dagger. It then returned to the shadows.
Thrakdreg slowly turned around and showed Haemerethwen the blade; flashing it in the sunlight to her, he then moved his face close to her ear.
"Do not fear, my love, I will return you to me," he stated. Suddenly her eyes widened in pain as she felt the point of the dagger slowly entering the flesh of her neck below her ear and beside her jaw. He delicately swirled the tip of the blade within her, causing a thin flow of blood to escape from within her. The blood was warm as it swiftly flowed down her pale neck, but Thrakdreg's mouth and tongue upon her wound was considerably warmer. She stiffened as he began to passionately suck where the blood slowly poured from her neck and soon she tried to pull her neck away. She felt strong hands forcing to remain where she was as Thrakdreg continued to molest her. He then removed his mouth and, licking his lips, whispered to her:
"This beautiful taste of blood...it keenly reminds me of a past ignored within you." He then brought his mouth back upon her wound and, while moaning, sucked out a few remaining drips before bringing his face in front of hers. She felt revulsion when she caught sight of her crimson blood dripping from his chapped lips, but the disgust increased when he brought his chaffed mouth to hers and forced her to open her lips with his dirty hands. Her voice was muffled when he closed his lips upon her and slipped her insipid blood and his tongue within her; she tried to spit out the revolting fluid from her mouth, but Thrakdreg soon plugged her nose and continued to cover her mouth with his. She choked on trying to dispel of the blood, but she was soon forced to swallow it.
He continued to press his mouth upon her, even though Haemerethwen was now sickened at the feel of her thick blood flowing down her throat. She aversively groaned at the disgusting feeling of his tongue illegally searching her mouth and struggled against her rope restraints to escape. He pulled away slowly with a smile upon his face and eyes closed. Immediately, Haemerethwen began to forcefully gag at the entire incidence, but forced herself to suppress the impulse to vomit. When she opened her eyes, Thrakdreg was still smiling at her. He brought the dagger back up to her view and it was then that she realized it was the same dagger that she had lost in the battle in Eryn Lasgalen.
"I have longed to return this to you; you apparently were too concerned with various matters to retrieve it," he stated. He then drove the dagger into her right shoulder, causing her to twist her face and gasp in anguish as she felt the flesh rip from her own tool. Again, he slightly swirled the blade, splitting her flesh more and forcing her to struggle to remain stoic. Clenching her jaw, she withheld the pain inflicted upon her until Thrakdreg finally bored at his wreaking harm upon her. He left the blade within her and then grabbed her chin, raising it up so he could look upon her paled face.
"Sleep well," he condescendingly stated. She knitted her brow, confused by his words since it was only the morning. He silently chuckled and, without warning, raised his fist and slammed it into her face; the force so strong that, after a few dizzying seconds, her chin sank down to her chest and consciousness escaped her.
****
"Daro," commanded Firithostion softly to his two companions. He pointed into the dank darkness, revealing the falling figures upon the stone floor. "Yrchs," he stated venomously and drew an arrow to his bow. The two followed his lead and focused their keen eyes upon the darkness, utterly consumed in their task of if needed protection. Firithostion slowly crept forward, his feet delicately touching the ground as he aimed his arrow at first one dead Orc then another.
The stone floor was covered in a mess of gore and the stench was nearly unbearable for the three Elves; rotting flesh overwhelmed their senses, but they were preoccupied in discovering the source of the slaughter. 'Perhaps a mutiny,' thought the Elven leader, but then quickly disregarded the suggestion: the Orcs were of the same race. Kneeling to glance at the creatures' equipment, his eyes filled with wonder when he realized that the evil beings were from western lands. He continued to peer through the material and tried to understand why these creatures would be within the mountainous region.
Suddenly, he heard a soft moan escape a figure within the dark. Immediately, the three Elves aimed into the darkness; when no further sound was released, the three slowly moved forward until their eyes fell upon a figure they did not expect. Firithostion dropped his bow quickly upon the ground when he caught sight of the dying Elf. He gently shook the wounded Elf, hoping there was still a chance that he may survive.
"Lasto beth nîn," Firithostion whispered, "Telin le thaed." The Elf merely peered up at him with eyes that gave no response, causing the leader to be slightly confused. "Pedich i lam edhellen?" asked Firithostion and shook the Elf more when he did not answer. Slowly, the wounded Elf shook his head "yes," and the Elven leader continued, "Man eneth lîn?" The Elf closed his eyes and slightly opened his mouth, trying to form the words that were hard to speak due to his dry mouth. He coughed, causing more pain in his wounds; gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and swallowed, trying to wet his throat.
"Legolas," he whispered almost inaudibly. The three Elves' eyes opened widely and Firithostion's mind raced: 'The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen? How might this happening occur?' He told his companions to grab hold of his tools; the Prince would have to be medically attended to immediately if he were to survive. Firithostion worked for hours to stitch up the gaping wounds that were already infected from being unattended to for at least two days. The festering wounds were so sickening that Firithostion would have to occasionally look away from the thick wound that secreted a yellowish pus and was surrounded by a considerable bruising; the many layers of his body were portrayed in the upper wound: the glistening whitish fat lying underneath the bloody, infected mess known as the skin.
Most of the flesh surrounding the wounds had to be cut away; the crusted skin could no longer heal itself due to the poison found upon the Orcs' blades. Again and again, Legolas strained against the strong arms holding him down, struggling to turn away from the pain. To no avail did he succeed and soon Firithostion had completed his healing tasks, but the Prince would have to be taken to Rivendell to be fully healed. Until then, the Wood-Elf would continue to dwell on the verge of death.
****
ELVISH DIALOGUE:
Lasto al lalaith nîn : Listen to my laughter / Henion Sindarin: I understand Sindarin / Nodo san: Bind her / Avar: Never / Daro: Stop / Lasto beth nîn: Hear my voice / Telin le thaed: I have come to help / Pedich i lam edhellen: Do you understand Sindarin? / Man eneth lîn: What is your name?
****
Haemerethwen awoke to a sharp sting upon her left cheek. The attack instantly reminded her of the previous instance as the pain returned from her bruised eye. She slowly opened her eyes, but soon found that her left eye had swollen to the point where she could not open it. The debilitating fear rose within her, but she forced her external face to remain calm and fake stability.
She looked upwards with her grey eyes at the threatening Orc standing over her; he sneered at her and shouted a few words in its disgusting language to his companions. Laughter soon followed and the Orc pointed down at her with its grubby finger, smiling and continuing to shout words to others.
"Lasto al lalaith nîn," sarcastically stated Haemerethwen with clenched teeth. An armored foot was immediately roughly planted upon the left side of her face, again forcing her to witness a stifling pain. The right side of her face was pushed into the ground as the foot pressed upon her, causing her to growl in her anger of suppression.
"Henion Sindarin," stated the Orc as he gave one last final push upon her cheek and then removed his foot. "Nodo san," he commanded with indifference. Instantly six hands grabbed onto the hurt she-Elf and another kicked her in the ribs to restrain her attempts to stop them. She was dragged over to a nearby tree where she was then bound. She spit in the Orc's face as her back was pushed onto the tree and her arms forcefully tied around it. The shoulder wound she received in the fight sharpened as her arms were brought backwards around the tree and she could feel her arm being on the verge of being separated from her shoulder. Soon her legs were also bound to the sturdy tree; her feet were shoulder width apart and the rope circled the tree around both thighs and shins to prevent her escape.
"Anguish deriving from despair arriving from forgotten memories; I shall refresh your memory," stated a thick and powerful voice. She looked upwards and paled when she caught sight of the gruesome face smiling at her. Tightening her jaw, she sternly shook her head.
"Avar," she whispered, challenging him with her eyes. He laughed at her and her efforts, the various jewelry located upon his leathered face ringing with it. He brought his calloused hand up to her right cheek, sickeningly smiling at her with broken teeth. Slowly stroking her bruise, his smile slowly faded and eyes began to cast over; his eyes focused on the blotch upon her fair features as he continued to gently rub it. Suddenly he looked into her grey eyes and tightened his lips together.
"Imperfection," he violently whispered. She hid the grimace as he began to press his thumb into her facial bruise. With one final press, he brought his hand away and turned around, beckoning an Orc to come near. It obliged and, after hearing its leader's request, handed over a dagger. It then returned to the shadows.
Thrakdreg slowly turned around and showed Haemerethwen the blade; flashing it in the sunlight to her, he then moved his face close to her ear.
"Do not fear, my love, I will return you to me," he stated. Suddenly her eyes widened in pain as she felt the point of the dagger slowly entering the flesh of her neck below her ear and beside her jaw. He delicately swirled the tip of the blade within her, causing a thin flow of blood to escape from within her. The blood was warm as it swiftly flowed down her pale neck, but Thrakdreg's mouth and tongue upon her wound was considerably warmer. She stiffened as he began to passionately suck where the blood slowly poured from her neck and soon she tried to pull her neck away. She felt strong hands forcing to remain where she was as Thrakdreg continued to molest her. He then removed his mouth and, licking his lips, whispered to her:
"This beautiful taste of blood...it keenly reminds me of a past ignored within you." He then brought his mouth back upon her wound and, while moaning, sucked out a few remaining drips before bringing his face in front of hers. She felt revulsion when she caught sight of her crimson blood dripping from his chapped lips, but the disgust increased when he brought his chaffed mouth to hers and forced her to open her lips with his dirty hands. Her voice was muffled when he closed his lips upon her and slipped her insipid blood and his tongue within her; she tried to spit out the revolting fluid from her mouth, but Thrakdreg soon plugged her nose and continued to cover her mouth with his. She choked on trying to dispel of the blood, but she was soon forced to swallow it.
He continued to press his mouth upon her, even though Haemerethwen was now sickened at the feel of her thick blood flowing down her throat. She aversively groaned at the disgusting feeling of his tongue illegally searching her mouth and struggled against her rope restraints to escape. He pulled away slowly with a smile upon his face and eyes closed. Immediately, Haemerethwen began to forcefully gag at the entire incidence, but forced herself to suppress the impulse to vomit. When she opened her eyes, Thrakdreg was still smiling at her. He brought the dagger back up to her view and it was then that she realized it was the same dagger that she had lost in the battle in Eryn Lasgalen.
"I have longed to return this to you; you apparently were too concerned with various matters to retrieve it," he stated. He then drove the dagger into her right shoulder, causing her to twist her face and gasp in anguish as she felt the flesh rip from her own tool. Again, he slightly swirled the blade, splitting her flesh more and forcing her to struggle to remain stoic. Clenching her jaw, she withheld the pain inflicted upon her until Thrakdreg finally bored at his wreaking harm upon her. He left the blade within her and then grabbed her chin, raising it up so he could look upon her paled face.
"Sleep well," he condescendingly stated. She knitted her brow, confused by his words since it was only the morning. He silently chuckled and, without warning, raised his fist and slammed it into her face; the force so strong that, after a few dizzying seconds, her chin sank down to her chest and consciousness escaped her.
****
"Daro," commanded Firithostion softly to his two companions. He pointed into the dank darkness, revealing the falling figures upon the stone floor. "Yrchs," he stated venomously and drew an arrow to his bow. The two followed his lead and focused their keen eyes upon the darkness, utterly consumed in their task of if needed protection. Firithostion slowly crept forward, his feet delicately touching the ground as he aimed his arrow at first one dead Orc then another.
The stone floor was covered in a mess of gore and the stench was nearly unbearable for the three Elves; rotting flesh overwhelmed their senses, but they were preoccupied in discovering the source of the slaughter. 'Perhaps a mutiny,' thought the Elven leader, but then quickly disregarded the suggestion: the Orcs were of the same race. Kneeling to glance at the creatures' equipment, his eyes filled with wonder when he realized that the evil beings were from western lands. He continued to peer through the material and tried to understand why these creatures would be within the mountainous region.
Suddenly, he heard a soft moan escape a figure within the dark. Immediately, the three Elves aimed into the darkness; when no further sound was released, the three slowly moved forward until their eyes fell upon a figure they did not expect. Firithostion dropped his bow quickly upon the ground when he caught sight of the dying Elf. He gently shook the wounded Elf, hoping there was still a chance that he may survive.
"Lasto beth nîn," Firithostion whispered, "Telin le thaed." The Elf merely peered up at him with eyes that gave no response, causing the leader to be slightly confused. "Pedich i lam edhellen?" asked Firithostion and shook the Elf more when he did not answer. Slowly, the wounded Elf shook his head "yes," and the Elven leader continued, "Man eneth lîn?" The Elf closed his eyes and slightly opened his mouth, trying to form the words that were hard to speak due to his dry mouth. He coughed, causing more pain in his wounds; gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and swallowed, trying to wet his throat.
"Legolas," he whispered almost inaudibly. The three Elves' eyes opened widely and Firithostion's mind raced: 'The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen? How might this happening occur?' He told his companions to grab hold of his tools; the Prince would have to be medically attended to immediately if he were to survive. Firithostion worked for hours to stitch up the gaping wounds that were already infected from being unattended to for at least two days. The festering wounds were so sickening that Firithostion would have to occasionally look away from the thick wound that secreted a yellowish pus and was surrounded by a considerable bruising; the many layers of his body were portrayed in the upper wound: the glistening whitish fat lying underneath the bloody, infected mess known as the skin.
Most of the flesh surrounding the wounds had to be cut away; the crusted skin could no longer heal itself due to the poison found upon the Orcs' blades. Again and again, Legolas strained against the strong arms holding him down, struggling to turn away from the pain. To no avail did he succeed and soon Firithostion had completed his healing tasks, but the Prince would have to be taken to Rivendell to be fully healed. Until then, the Wood-Elf would continue to dwell on the verge of death.