Shades of Gray
A/N #1: When an orc has an elvish dream.... Mwahahahahahahahahaha!
Chapter 2: A Shocking Encounter
~*~
Swift, jerking movements wove the image of her sight between the dense wood as if she were running too fast toward a much desired thing, or away from the object of utmost fear. Her mind tightened her throat in sheer, agonized abandon, as if to let instinct take over the fleet motions now required of her silent feet. She moved as a shadow or a beam of light, leaving no trail to mark its passing, running on the path she was now discovering with no more notice taken to her existence than the blowing of a gentle wind, already forgotten before it had ever been.
Though she was certain that she could feel the exhilarating adrenaline of her sprint in every corner of her body, she could not see her ground-devouring strides, though the weightless moment of suspension came again and again before the soft contact of her foot as it met the ground, before the surge of power that threw the other foot forward, and then once more that fleeting moment when she felt she might never touch the earth again. And yet she seemed strangely near the ground, crawling, not running. But no, she was moving too fast... She had to be running.
She couldn't hear the overwhelming beat of her heart, though she could feel it against her chest as if it were filling with blood again and again, but not quite able to push it all out once more, the beat becoming stronger and stronger as if it were swelling up, stealing all the blood from her body, leaving her cold and unfeeling, her heart fit to burst. The pounding of blood against her skin made her flesh crawl with shivers of cold sweat, now distinctly aware that she was very much apprehensive of where she might find herself in the end.
In the end?
Silvery blurs of young wood slipped past like phantoms enclosing along the way she must come, guarding her from escape. Gradually the green- mantled trees became older, larger, forced further apart, fleeting gleams of silver flashing from their canopies. But still there was only one way to go - it was not up to her anymore. The earth flew by too swiftly for her mind to react, all thoughts of turning around or even slowing down becoming useless as the now dominant command of her most primetive instincts screamed 'left! right! jump! faster!' in endless procession, her body unable to object. Flashes of gold began to grasp at her senses, darting glimpses of clear blue eyes puncturing her overloaded mind like small, sharp knifes being swiftly punched into her lungs again and again. The metallic gleam of an arrow's sharp and elegant tip brought a gasping attempt at a scream out of her frozen lips as instinct alone threw her to the side in a far from graceful leap.
Panic is a tool. When all logical reason is found worthless or unattainable, it becomes the last defense against death. It opens another part of the mind, allowing a person to see in a way that they would never be able to see before. A person in full, pure panic, can quite often find a solution that the most logical mind would never have thought of. In fact, fighting panic is often far more dangerous than letting it go. No mind can do anything while at war with itself. But Erashnak didn't want to panic. If she panicked, she might never wake up, or wake up only to find that she had done herself mentally, or even physically, crippling harm. The paths of the mind run deep indeed, and the end could mean anything. Panic, in such a state, was like testing a sword on your throat, hoping that it wouldn't be sharp enough... A fool's attempt to stare death in the eyes and walk away. But how many swords in the world were so dull? How many were so sharp?
She should never have allowed her mind to revert to instinct. No, she should have never let her mind slip into a state of dream at all. She knew how to prevent them. She'd learned long ago - the pitch black of Moria was like an endless slate on which an idle mind could draw any number of terrible pictures. She'd learned how to stop them in the virtual hell of eternal night, a place where one might often come to wonder whether their eyes were open or not, whether what they were seeing was real or just a thought. Now why was she being overcome in a place so much kinder to the senses? And where... where was she?
Are you sure you're not awake?' She spun around in halting, unstable steps, the cold air burning her lungs as they swelled against her chest, pushing up bone and muscle as she hungrily sucked in the frigidly toxic air, unable to stop though the pain was beginning to slow her senses down to a drifting state of consciousness. A pale hand stretched out toward her suddenly, unfolding long fingers like some putrid otherworldly flower, reaching out for her, some specter of the dark lands come to pull her down into the earth.
She leapt back in an overwhelming jolt of fear. Erashnak knew enough to know that all she needed to do was believe it was all real, and it would be just as much. But the nameless creature who had replaced her didn't know how to turn the thought into reality instead of the image. The image was more real. The thought couldn't be trusted.
So instinct still had hold of her. 'If you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?' The hand inched forward - the demon it belonged to didn't want her to leave, it wanted her to stay forever, straining toward her as if she was its last chance to grasp life and live. Erashnak felt the body she had been set in reach out its hand in return, reaching with trembling fingers toward death itself... 'Is it so terrible?'
Their fingers brushed, and Erashnak watched as if she were standing behind. Throwing herself backward in righteous panic, stumbling steps hauled her away. She was growing weaker as if the will inside her was spilling out in every inescapable exhale, drifting away. Now given full sight of the ground, she focused dully on a pendant with its silver chain draped delicately over dark spears of grass. The stone that had been set in the trinket seemed to glow like rippling water just concealed from the sun. It was... amazing, intoxicating, she thought numbly, and it seemed as if the stone was waking up, becoming real, turned to a swan gathering its wings to fly. She couldn't look away from the living stone - it was the focus of her every sense. There was a snapping sensation as her knees unlocked, and it felt like flying to fall.
The ground rose up to meet her, and abandon filled her mind with an empty calm - acceptance. Her knees slammed against the earth, sending sharp tendrils of pain through every nerve as bone and tendon jarred with the sudden impact. A scream rose in her throat, an overwhelming need to scream. Scream, and the pain would be less, it had to be. But all that came was a gasp, a gasp that tore her throat raw.
~*~
Eyes flying open, Erashnak found herself staring at rough stone where soft earth had been. A wail of pain like fire lashing at fuel was beginning to thread up from her knees, weaving around each fiber and every vein. Her breath was deep, ragged, and now noticeably abrading the newly revealed skin that had been opened up in her chest. She coughed, and wished she hadn't, warm blood splattering her hands. Once her trembling had calmed from its intensity and warmth began slowly to return to her skin, she began to let her mind start working again. Moving to sit, more falling than not, she touched the cap of her right knee with a hesitant gentleness. The pain that flared at her touch was not as much as she'd thought it would be. It wasn't smashed. But it could still be damaged. Tearing away her leggings she inspected the pale skin carefully. A strange dark color was beginning to flower across her knees, and she sighed. Bruises she was used to. Most of her skin was darkened by the lingering taint of them, some soon to fade, others younger and still tender, yellowing shades of healing mingled in. Bruises could be ignored, so long as they weren't too deep, or too many at once. But if she'd have broken something...
The thought was too much to entertain. How could she fall asleep? How could she let herself dream, at a time like this? Her defenses were already so weak, but the last few days of running and fighting and running again had already numbed her last shields.
Sliding over to lean against a tree she sighed, wiping the blood off of her face with her just as bloody hand. And now she'd reopened the abrasions in her throat again. Her heedless screams in Moria had insured this constant re-wounding for quite a time - at least until she ran out of reasons to breath so hard. They had all seen it, how sallow her skin was becoming, worse even than her usual pallor. How weak she was becoming, even compared to how weak she already was. Loss of blood and loss of heart was taking its toll on them all. But none doubted that Erashnak would be the first to collapse and die. It was the simple truth - she was the weakest.
Erashnak took a deep, carefully slow breath, and replaced her leggings in a way that no crease or fold would press over the damaged skin. After staring at the ground for a moment and more, she realized that she had let her mind focus on nothing yet again, pulling her into what might be called a trance. After all, there wasn't anything all that interesting about the ground, sitting at the coupling of soil and stone where it seemed one of the very bones of the earth had been thrust up from the ground, accepted by the moss and creepers of the forest long ago. The bark of the tree at her back could be felt only as a rough grating against the stiff leather she wore in patched armor, hardly worthy of a name.
Exhaling as deeply, she glanced up at the sky as it danced between the outspread leaves of the canopy. The moon had wasted so swiftly, now nothing but an empty hole in the pattern of the stars. The cold lights seemed to shine with their purest radiance, now that the sky was theirs alone. It was a pale light that washed the world in a fairy glow, like a dream. Not like Erashnak's dreams. Like - what a dream was supposed to be. 'But then, how do you know?'
A cool, gentle wind sighed about the trees, pricking gossamer tendrils of her hair only to let them fall again, running soft fingers through last year's litter of leaves that lay at her feet. It seemed to be playing with them, scooping them up and whirling them around, and letting them float back to earth, filling the night air with their rasping dance. She found herself watching the gentle sway of the trees, listening wordlessly to the quite sounds of their shifting bows. Unconsciously she swayed with them slightly, and soon a wonderful feeling of calm had washed every other thought out of her mind. Only wind and tree remained. She might fall asleep, and rest peacefully for once, she dared to think then, as the wind played about her like a lullaby...
"Erashnak?"
She was startled, but frowned even at her slight flinch at the sudden voicing of her name. This wasn't the time to think about calm and quiet and rest. This was the time to be thinking about staying alive. And that singular word served well as a cruel reminder.
Suddenly Erashnak found out that she was lost. Where, she didn't know. Maybe she was lost in the forest, or lost in her life, or maybe she was lost in herself. It didn't really matter. That's the thing about being lost - you don't know where you are, and the only way you'll ever know is if someone tells you, and all you can do about it is wander around aimlessly until someone finds you, or until you find yourself. But no, she was lost with them all, and they with her. Where would they go? Further in the mountains? Mordor? Beyond? Either way, they were going in the wrong direction. Weren't they?
And then she knew that she was, indeed, truly lost, with no idea where she was. It hadn't occurred to her before - she knew where the camp was, and how far away she was from it. She knew how to get back, and she knew how to find a different path to take her there if need be. But it wasn't so simple as that. The forest must have a name. They must be somewhere with a name. But she didn't know that name, and she didn't know how to find her way out of it. She was completely and utterly lost. But at the moment, she was also lost for words.
Tagar let the moment of silence pass between them ungrudgingly, using the rare chance to look her daughter over, checking with a mother's keen eye's for any hint of a broken bone, an internal injury, a festering wound. What she found didn't surprise her. The girl sat hunched in a particular manner, one that appeared natural enough, but not natural for Erashnak. It was a revision to her posture, made unconsciously to give her comfort. It could mean a number of things - broken ribs, abdominal bruising, mild internal bleeding. Any of them could kill her, if she kept going on as she was. Sighing, Tagar tried to put on a smile for her only daughter, a mask to hide her own fears, but with failing she let the concern in her mind surface on her face. It would have to be soon. They could only trust to hope.
Erashnak, we need to get back to the camp. The sun will rise soon, and you need to eat something, and then you should sleep as long as you may. Suddenly Tagar frowned, her voice accusing, hoping that the girl would grasp what she meant and do as she asked. "You really don't look well at all."
But for all of her own heartache, Tagar didn't sound as bright or as strong as she normally did, and the tinge of grief on her voice and in her eyes served only to bleed her daughter's mood still further. Her mother's grief was her fault. Erashnak got up numbly, weaving a little as she waited for the dizziness of getting up too fast to wear away. Subdued, she let her mother's hands enfold her own, and felt her lips tremble as she looked down at the older orc, so much smaller, so pretty with her big eyes, like the sun, the dark marbled pattern of her skin, the black mass of her untamed hair.
"Mother..." she began, but went no further. Her voice was so strange - softly toned, deep, quiet. It didn't sound right to reply so to such a strong voice. Her mother's voice was always strong, soft or not. Erashnak's had never seemed so weak. Not in her memory. But then, her mind didn't seem to be working so well now at all.
Her shoulders shook with the rising need to open her mouth and just scream, scream until the hurt was drowned in the sound of it, scream until the endless motion of time would stop and turn back to a moment when she would be silent, and the world perfect as it would never be. But Erashnak didn't scream. She never screamed, nor let loose the blind emotions that welled up in her and sob, or laugh, or fume. Orcs didn't do those things, not like she would. Silent tears might run down her face, a smile might light her eyes. A shout might exclaim victory or pain. Nothing more. It would be too much to let loose at once, and safer in its ever deepening dam. She had never learned how to do anything more.
Erashnak glanced up at the sky, trying to force down the fierce prickling that burned her eyes with a threatened flow of new tears. Her face was already tight with the shining paths of tears already shed, falling in silence as she stood and tried to tell herself that everything that had happened was someone else's fault, only to come back to the conclusion that everything was actually her fault, again and again. She wanted desperately to point and blame and rage to everyone around her that no, it was their fault, not hers, if only so that she might be able to breath again. As it was, each labored breath that she was forced to suck into her lungs unwillingly swelled her chest with a pain that felt as if a heavy weight was being carefully set over her heart, so that she would slowly suffocate under its crushing presence.
In time, standing alone as the trees stood ghost-like about her in the gloom, she had finally begun to accept the fact that it was her. She alone was the sum of all their problems. It was her who plagued their noble family with ridicule. It was her who drove them away from the only home they had. And for some strange reason, a thread of fear and foretelling in the back of her mind, she knew it was her who would kill them all. Her skin prickled, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end.
She clung to her mother like a little child as they began to walk back. They had far to go, and their conversations lingered over silence, each seeming to know the heart of the other and offering nothing more than wordless understanding. But that was not all that held their tongues. The forest itself seemed to command it, with an ethereal quality that intimidated them both. Are all forests like that? Erashnak wondered. It was such a strange feeling, calming, and yet it seemed to put Tagar on edge while Erashnak puzzled over its... rightness.
Actually, she realized, Tagar seemed to be tense to the point of purest fear, though the emotions she conveyed through her touch were decidedly mixed - a battle of wills going on within her. Opening her mouth Erashnak breathed in deeper through her nose. There was a strange smell on the air. Becoming anxious at her own mother's fear, Erashnak suddenly forgot her woes and listened to the new sounds that had begun to plague her ears, almost too soft to be heard. They weren't animals. Their motions were slowed, masking their footsteps in stealth, almost circling. Like predators. But they didn't smell like predators of the wood. Erashnak had come across enough in the short time of their passage into the forest to know - that wasn't a pack of meat-seeking beasts, unless wolves had learned to walk on two feet. And they weren't orcs - their movement was too fluid.
Teetering on the edge of panic once more, Erashnak ignored the pain of her gasping breath and clutched at her mother again. Fear flooded her veins as she began to replay every tale she had ever been told in the fearsome enclosure of her mind. What were they? Some fairytale beast, half man and half wolf, or half deer perhaps, or all three, demons rising up from water and mist to hunt the trespassers of their forest, Werewolves hungry for the hunt, Fairies searching for a new plaything to entertain them.
Suddenly there was a buzzing in her ear, and Erashnak heaved all her weight against Tagar, sending them both to the ground as an arrow whistled past them before disappearing into the shadows once more.
"Run!" Tagar screamed, pushing her daughter away. Erashnak stared at her in surprise and fear as the older orc hauled her to her feet and pushed her again. "Run! I'll follow right behind you!" she added, when she realized that Erashnak was going nowhere without her.
Another arrow flew past, one that had only missed them by a inch, as if the bow that shot it had been jerked away when Erashnak stepped back in front of Tagar. Thoroughly panicked, Earshnak jumped away and didn't need the push her mother gave her to find a path and run for all she was worth. A coward, the sane part of her mind coursed, running away from your fears. But the Erashnak who had almost been impaled by an arrow couldn't even hear, the pound of her running feet and the beating of her heart ruled over all sound, sending all thoughts of stopping far, far away. More arrows flew, and several most certainly did not hit wood or earth. But a second set of footsteps had manifested to her right, and fear took her on through misery and hurt without end.
Suddenly she realized that she should be happy. Those footsteps were her mother's, and soon they would both stop and embrace and all would be well again. But in her heart, and in that annoying bit of sanity in the back of her mind, she knew that those footsteps were not Tagar's. They were too quick, too soft, and too pursuing. Tagar would simply be running. This creature was trying to overtake her, and succeeding in its task.
Everything within her grinded to a halt, crashing down into a pit of broken rubble. Her legs went on only because there was nothing left in her to stop them. The pieces came together, and the puzzle was beat against her again and again, knocking the wind out of her lungs as it overwhelmed her senses with pain. Her mother had fallen. She had stayed behind. The arrows had hit her, the ones that hadn't hit wood or earth, embedding their sharp heads in living flesh and bleeding out the life of all she had left.
Her knees snapped again and she blundered about for a moment before grinding her teeth and running on, running through an endless path of agony that she hadn't let herself understand yet. she would come to terms with it after she collapsed, when consciousness came back and she lay half-dead on the earth. Then she would come to terms with all she had lost, and mourn all she would never have. But for now, she would run.
And then the footsteps returned to her mind, mostly because they were ahead of her. Struck once more with fear, Erashnak stumbled left and right, trying to find a way to become lost in the forest. But her hunter was cunning and swift. The running footsteps curved around her, dimming until they were almost gone before coming back, running straight toward her, relentless, giving her no room to turn and run the other way. A strange voice called out as she neared hopelessly, and then Erashnak knew what hunted her.
She knew few words of elvish, only what an elf might say as they slaughtered orcs or were slaughtered in turn. But the lilt she could guess anywhere, a fear embedded in her breeding. Suddenly he was there, and she was ready to make sure her death was not alone, instinct drawing her sword and driving her toward the attack. Orcs die only at a stand.
The elf, more than surprised, dropped bow and arrow and crossed her blade with his own. Somewhat calmed by the sudden lack of motion, Erashnak ran the edge of her sword up his long knife, drawing his gaze after the sliding blade before flicking it back down with all of her fading, minuscule might. The elf leaped back with a cry, and Erashnak, already on edge, was thrown off.
Her left knee was numb, she realized, as she started backward. The joint flexed and popped - in the wrong direction. Stumbling yet again she found herself sitting on the ground rather unceremoniously, a dull ache rising up in protest. Now staring up from her new, strange vantage point, it took a moment for shock to bleed away and let her move again. Despairing, she shoved the heels of her hands into her eye sockets to stop the tears. Now she would die, alone in a world that hated her, since the time of her birth. Alone. Opening her eyes, she watched the ground, waiting for the final blow, surprised at how easy it was just to give up on life.
A moment passed, and then another. The elf stood back, not glancing at the long cut that ran the length of his hand, red drops gathering and falling to feed the earth, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Then, seeming to snap back to life, three strides took him to her side, kneeling down at once to see if she was hurt. Erashnak gave a yelp when the elf's face suddenly appeared before her own, full of concern, and within an instant she had grabbed her sword again and dug the hilt into his stomach, pitching forward to throw him down even as she landed on her own feet once more.
Poised to strike, Erashnak gazed down at the tall figure sprawled out below her, but for some reason she hesitated. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing an elf, a creature who looked so much like her. He was taller, of course, and his hair golden, his eyes blue. An elf. The creature of utmost fear. And yet - so much like her. The only one who could answer so many questions... And yet the only one who struck fear in every chord of her body.
And yet maybe again it was the look that had been in his eyes, the pure concern that had radiated from his every feature. Nothing evil was like that - was it? Was it his wide-eyed surprise, gazing up at her as if he couldn't possibly believe they had switched placed so fast? Or was it the bleeding gash that made her stop, frozen with sword raised. Red blood. The color of her blood. For some reason, it seemed to mean more than anything.
And then, rising on his elbows as he watched her stare at him in surprise and confusion, he threw his head back and laughed, soft, quiet, but still laughter. Erashnak felt her eyes widen as her brows shot up. Laughter? Not orc laughter, low and menacing even in mirth, not balrog laughter, cruel and distant, enough to put fear in the heart of the bravest. It was like hearing laughter for the first time, loud and resonant it seemed, no matter how soft, and beautiful. How could she had thought that an elf's laugh would be so harsh and dark? It was the perfect inverse of everything painful and empty she had even gone through, the complete opposite of every spiteful word she had ever heard. A smile stretched her lips. She couldn't help it - his laughter was infectious.
But as for the elf, he let his laughter fade away when she replied with her uncertain smile. At least it was a bit more encouraging a reply than her rather uncomforting trick with the sword hilt. But just as much as she couldn't have kept herself from smiling, he couldn't have stopped the laugh if she were leading a troll around by a chain. The sight of her tottering around on unsteady legs, sitting down with a thud, eyes wide as saucers in surprise, and lips trembling as if she were about to cry, reminded him so much of a little child taking its first steps that he couldn't have helped it at all when he crouched down to see if she was injured. And then his eyes must have been just as wide when she flipped him down on his own backside, switching places like magic. Though he wasn't quite sure, one would have thought that an elf-maiden would have been a bit more pleased with being rescued. And so, laughter was inevitable. Each thought the other was something they most certainly were not, and in the deepest, darkest corners of their minds, some foretelling imp was laughing for all he was worth at their foolishness. If it shown through their unconscious actions, there could have been no helping it, and perhaps the things that are thought about least are the things that are best to do.
And so it was with Erashnak. Laughter was the last and final factor of this newest encounter that she could place on her list of tallies, pushing her away from 'kill and run for it' toward 'stay and watch'. Giving him a curious, if cautious sidelong glance, she felt her sword drop out of her hand and fall to the ground with a dull thud. The elf's gaze followed it, noting once more that it was an elvish blade, most certainly not the common weapon of an orc. To him it was yet another deciding element in the one-sided argument that she was a captive among them. Of course, he couldn't have known that the only reason she used the elf-sword was because she couldn't lift any weapon that a normal orc would use. Her family had found the sword and given it to her, so that she could defend herself at least a little.
Standing up a bit cautiously himself, trying not to spook her again, the elf took a careful step forward. Then, suddenly, impulsively, Erashnak herself stepped up, hesitantly at best, but too lost in her marveling, mixed curiosity to conjure any lasting thought of true fear. One of his hands, the one she had cut, was held a little before him, not quite nursing the wound, but not being all too casual with it all the same. Erashnak was transfixed beyond words, staring so intently that she didn't even notice how close she had come. His hand was as pale as hers, but somewhat larger and longer fingered. She had never seen a hand like hers before, and held up her own before her as if to make sure what she was seeing was real. And it was - their hands were virtually the same.
Cocking an eyebrow, the elf held up his own hand to see if he couldn't find out just what had snapped her into such a thoughtful state. All he saw was the bit of blood on his hand, which had mostly dried to a stiff brownish color already. Thoroughly confused, he watched her tentatively flex her fingers, her eyes darting from one hand to the other.
It was primitive instinct that ruled once again. She couldn't have helped it if he'd had a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and a serrated sword held up for the swing. Swaying numbly forward, she set the heel of her palm against his and lay her hand out flat. She was right, his hand was bigger than hers, but exactly the same besides. Both had none of the normal callusing of a swordsman's hands - the skin was merely strong, tougher than more sheltered flesh. And his hand was warm, but not the unpleasant warm she was used to. It was a blood-warm, a warmth that heralds nothing more than life.
She stood astonished, gazing at the first time her hand had ever fit against the hand of another. Always the hands of her people had been strangely concave, hard and large, and her hand had only been able to touch a few risen belts of muscle when both stretched their hands out flat.
The elf, if possible, was even more amazed than Erashnak. Her sudden outreach was more than unexpected, and completely uncharacteristic of his kind (and hers as well, to tell the truth). She had seemed so afraid just a moment ago, and yet suddenly now she had her hand flat against his, looking as if she had never seen one before. And just as instinctively as she had done, the elf curled his fingers, their hands separating for a moment, almost as if shrinking away from her sudden touch, and then matched their fingertips. Both already surprised at each other and themselves, it was more than they could take when their skin touched again and sent a static shock through their hands. The elf flinched, blinking in wonder, but Erashnak nearly jumped out of her skin, stumbling backward a few steps before quickly examining her hand. But it only took a moment for her to fix her stare back on him, eyes a little less wide, and a bit calmer than he'd thought she would be.
Seeing her sword on the ground, he stared for a moment before swiftly picking it up, careful to be as unthreatening as could be, and glanced at the runes on the blade before handing it to her hilt first. She too stared for a moment before slowly raising her hand and twisting her fingers around it. The corners of her mouth crooked up for a moment as she slid it back into her scabbard, and the elf noticed that she almost missed and had to look, using both hands to steady herself. Ignoring this for the time being and taking her suppressed smile as a good sign, he decided it was time to speak at last, thought he felt shaken to the core.
"I am Haldir," he said, but got no further for the fact that she flinched at the words, pulling back again with no hint of recognition on her features.
It was more than surprise. Not only did she not understand him, she was literally terrified of him, and every word he said. Perhaps she was taken as a baby, he thought, and raised like an orc. He nodded internally. That had to be it. She was raised as an orc for most of her life, and would need reminded about her true heritage before she could calm down and act it.
In a state of denial, he would realize some time later. It was terrible logic, and yet it was all he had at the moment. And so, deciding that any elvish tongue would be a risk, it was Westron that he chose to use next.
"I am Haldir," he repeated in the common tongue, hoping that his accent wouldn't set her off again, "Captain of the Guard."
It was strange, how much she felt like a bird sitting on his finger, and he found himself trying to speak softly so that she wouldn't dart away. "Do you understand this speech?"
Erashnak took half a step back, perplexed. All orcs of the higher circles were taught the common language. It was the only way they could speak to orcs of different creeds from their own, whose languages were many. But it had never even occurred to her that elves might know Westron as well. For some reason it made her feel even more threatened, finding out that elves weren't some strange creature beyond understanding. Being able to understand his words was more a shock than she could rightly bear. It took a moment for her to realize that he had told her his name. It seemed so wrong, for an elf just to stand up and say 'I am Haldir.' But, for the record, she couldn't think of what would have been better to say. And so, she hesitated greatly before forming her reply, the only reply she could think of.
I am Erashnak, she said, unconsciously massaging her hand.
Haldir stared at her for a moment. He hadn't truly been expecting to be given an orcish name, and it threw him for words until he remembered the role he had already assigned her in his mind. It was only understandable, that one raised among orcs would have an orcish name. But still...
"You are not injured?" he probed, and she shook her head slowly. It took her a second to realize that this was a lie, but he had already gone on before she could have corrected herself, not that she would have.
If you are fit enough to walk, then, we need to be moving on. We can meet up with my company by tomorrow, if we go on at a fair pace. I am sorry that our meeting must be so... unceremonious, understatement of the century, "but I fear we are still in danger here."
Erashnak stared at him still, her lips pressed into a line as she bit them together anxiously. Everything was happening so fast! Going with the elf had never occurred to her - she needed to get back to camp and see what she could do. And yet, she knew in her heart, that all she would find would be bodies. She didn't let her mind linger over that for anything more than a second, focusing instead on what might become of her, alone. It was a much safer thought. But again and again, the only answer that included surviving began with following the elf... following Haldir.
She nodded her head numbly, and after fixing her with a questioning, concerned gaze for a moment, Haldir turned and looked out over the forest, picking the best path to the destination set for them to regroup.
Running after Erashnak hadn't been a spontaneous thing. It was because of her that they had staked out the orc camp in the first place instead of waiting to catch them all at the most convenient time. When she bolted, it was quickly decided that Haldir would follow while his company cleaned up. He sent them on without him to search for any more encampments before they regrouped, but he hadn't expected the girl to run so fast or so far. It would take quite a bit of walking to reach the outpost.
This way, said Haldir, picking up his bow and replacing the arrow in his quiver as an afterthought, and slowly, hesitantly, she followed in his wake, feeling empty for all of the pain she was penning up inside her, but felt the curiosity in her bloom was she caught sight of the elf running a finger over his hand as well. To her thought it was a very strange, new world she had entered into - and if only she knew how much stranger it would become.
~*~
A/N #2: I think this is all veRy funny. Most people add in an orc attack when they nEed a bit of action. I add in an elf attack. I just can't stand it, lol. Anyway, this might be a good time to tell you that this Haldir is book-based. Sorry lasses, but I really didn't like the movie Version of him. He was much nIcer in the books, in my opinion, and that's what I'm looking for. I couldn't very well writE a fanfiction and not put in one of my favorite characters, noW could I?
A/N #1: When an orc has an elvish dream.... Mwahahahahahahahahaha!
Chapter 2: A Shocking Encounter
~*~
Swift, jerking movements wove the image of her sight between the dense wood as if she were running too fast toward a much desired thing, or away from the object of utmost fear. Her mind tightened her throat in sheer, agonized abandon, as if to let instinct take over the fleet motions now required of her silent feet. She moved as a shadow or a beam of light, leaving no trail to mark its passing, running on the path she was now discovering with no more notice taken to her existence than the blowing of a gentle wind, already forgotten before it had ever been.
Though she was certain that she could feel the exhilarating adrenaline of her sprint in every corner of her body, she could not see her ground-devouring strides, though the weightless moment of suspension came again and again before the soft contact of her foot as it met the ground, before the surge of power that threw the other foot forward, and then once more that fleeting moment when she felt she might never touch the earth again. And yet she seemed strangely near the ground, crawling, not running. But no, she was moving too fast... She had to be running.
She couldn't hear the overwhelming beat of her heart, though she could feel it against her chest as if it were filling with blood again and again, but not quite able to push it all out once more, the beat becoming stronger and stronger as if it were swelling up, stealing all the blood from her body, leaving her cold and unfeeling, her heart fit to burst. The pounding of blood against her skin made her flesh crawl with shivers of cold sweat, now distinctly aware that she was very much apprehensive of where she might find herself in the end.
In the end?
Silvery blurs of young wood slipped past like phantoms enclosing along the way she must come, guarding her from escape. Gradually the green- mantled trees became older, larger, forced further apart, fleeting gleams of silver flashing from their canopies. But still there was only one way to go - it was not up to her anymore. The earth flew by too swiftly for her mind to react, all thoughts of turning around or even slowing down becoming useless as the now dominant command of her most primetive instincts screamed 'left! right! jump! faster!' in endless procession, her body unable to object. Flashes of gold began to grasp at her senses, darting glimpses of clear blue eyes puncturing her overloaded mind like small, sharp knifes being swiftly punched into her lungs again and again. The metallic gleam of an arrow's sharp and elegant tip brought a gasping attempt at a scream out of her frozen lips as instinct alone threw her to the side in a far from graceful leap.
Panic is a tool. When all logical reason is found worthless or unattainable, it becomes the last defense against death. It opens another part of the mind, allowing a person to see in a way that they would never be able to see before. A person in full, pure panic, can quite often find a solution that the most logical mind would never have thought of. In fact, fighting panic is often far more dangerous than letting it go. No mind can do anything while at war with itself. But Erashnak didn't want to panic. If she panicked, she might never wake up, or wake up only to find that she had done herself mentally, or even physically, crippling harm. The paths of the mind run deep indeed, and the end could mean anything. Panic, in such a state, was like testing a sword on your throat, hoping that it wouldn't be sharp enough... A fool's attempt to stare death in the eyes and walk away. But how many swords in the world were so dull? How many were so sharp?
She should never have allowed her mind to revert to instinct. No, she should have never let her mind slip into a state of dream at all. She knew how to prevent them. She'd learned long ago - the pitch black of Moria was like an endless slate on which an idle mind could draw any number of terrible pictures. She'd learned how to stop them in the virtual hell of eternal night, a place where one might often come to wonder whether their eyes were open or not, whether what they were seeing was real or just a thought. Now why was she being overcome in a place so much kinder to the senses? And where... where was she?
Are you sure you're not awake?' She spun around in halting, unstable steps, the cold air burning her lungs as they swelled against her chest, pushing up bone and muscle as she hungrily sucked in the frigidly toxic air, unable to stop though the pain was beginning to slow her senses down to a drifting state of consciousness. A pale hand stretched out toward her suddenly, unfolding long fingers like some putrid otherworldly flower, reaching out for her, some specter of the dark lands come to pull her down into the earth.
She leapt back in an overwhelming jolt of fear. Erashnak knew enough to know that all she needed to do was believe it was all real, and it would be just as much. But the nameless creature who had replaced her didn't know how to turn the thought into reality instead of the image. The image was more real. The thought couldn't be trusted.
So instinct still had hold of her. 'If you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?' The hand inched forward - the demon it belonged to didn't want her to leave, it wanted her to stay forever, straining toward her as if she was its last chance to grasp life and live. Erashnak felt the body she had been set in reach out its hand in return, reaching with trembling fingers toward death itself... 'Is it so terrible?'
Their fingers brushed, and Erashnak watched as if she were standing behind. Throwing herself backward in righteous panic, stumbling steps hauled her away. She was growing weaker as if the will inside her was spilling out in every inescapable exhale, drifting away. Now given full sight of the ground, she focused dully on a pendant with its silver chain draped delicately over dark spears of grass. The stone that had been set in the trinket seemed to glow like rippling water just concealed from the sun. It was... amazing, intoxicating, she thought numbly, and it seemed as if the stone was waking up, becoming real, turned to a swan gathering its wings to fly. She couldn't look away from the living stone - it was the focus of her every sense. There was a snapping sensation as her knees unlocked, and it felt like flying to fall.
The ground rose up to meet her, and abandon filled her mind with an empty calm - acceptance. Her knees slammed against the earth, sending sharp tendrils of pain through every nerve as bone and tendon jarred with the sudden impact. A scream rose in her throat, an overwhelming need to scream. Scream, and the pain would be less, it had to be. But all that came was a gasp, a gasp that tore her throat raw.
~*~
Eyes flying open, Erashnak found herself staring at rough stone where soft earth had been. A wail of pain like fire lashing at fuel was beginning to thread up from her knees, weaving around each fiber and every vein. Her breath was deep, ragged, and now noticeably abrading the newly revealed skin that had been opened up in her chest. She coughed, and wished she hadn't, warm blood splattering her hands. Once her trembling had calmed from its intensity and warmth began slowly to return to her skin, she began to let her mind start working again. Moving to sit, more falling than not, she touched the cap of her right knee with a hesitant gentleness. The pain that flared at her touch was not as much as she'd thought it would be. It wasn't smashed. But it could still be damaged. Tearing away her leggings she inspected the pale skin carefully. A strange dark color was beginning to flower across her knees, and she sighed. Bruises she was used to. Most of her skin was darkened by the lingering taint of them, some soon to fade, others younger and still tender, yellowing shades of healing mingled in. Bruises could be ignored, so long as they weren't too deep, or too many at once. But if she'd have broken something...
The thought was too much to entertain. How could she fall asleep? How could she let herself dream, at a time like this? Her defenses were already so weak, but the last few days of running and fighting and running again had already numbed her last shields.
Sliding over to lean against a tree she sighed, wiping the blood off of her face with her just as bloody hand. And now she'd reopened the abrasions in her throat again. Her heedless screams in Moria had insured this constant re-wounding for quite a time - at least until she ran out of reasons to breath so hard. They had all seen it, how sallow her skin was becoming, worse even than her usual pallor. How weak she was becoming, even compared to how weak she already was. Loss of blood and loss of heart was taking its toll on them all. But none doubted that Erashnak would be the first to collapse and die. It was the simple truth - she was the weakest.
Erashnak took a deep, carefully slow breath, and replaced her leggings in a way that no crease or fold would press over the damaged skin. After staring at the ground for a moment and more, she realized that she had let her mind focus on nothing yet again, pulling her into what might be called a trance. After all, there wasn't anything all that interesting about the ground, sitting at the coupling of soil and stone where it seemed one of the very bones of the earth had been thrust up from the ground, accepted by the moss and creepers of the forest long ago. The bark of the tree at her back could be felt only as a rough grating against the stiff leather she wore in patched armor, hardly worthy of a name.
Exhaling as deeply, she glanced up at the sky as it danced between the outspread leaves of the canopy. The moon had wasted so swiftly, now nothing but an empty hole in the pattern of the stars. The cold lights seemed to shine with their purest radiance, now that the sky was theirs alone. It was a pale light that washed the world in a fairy glow, like a dream. Not like Erashnak's dreams. Like - what a dream was supposed to be. 'But then, how do you know?'
A cool, gentle wind sighed about the trees, pricking gossamer tendrils of her hair only to let them fall again, running soft fingers through last year's litter of leaves that lay at her feet. It seemed to be playing with them, scooping them up and whirling them around, and letting them float back to earth, filling the night air with their rasping dance. She found herself watching the gentle sway of the trees, listening wordlessly to the quite sounds of their shifting bows. Unconsciously she swayed with them slightly, and soon a wonderful feeling of calm had washed every other thought out of her mind. Only wind and tree remained. She might fall asleep, and rest peacefully for once, she dared to think then, as the wind played about her like a lullaby...
"Erashnak?"
She was startled, but frowned even at her slight flinch at the sudden voicing of her name. This wasn't the time to think about calm and quiet and rest. This was the time to be thinking about staying alive. And that singular word served well as a cruel reminder.
Suddenly Erashnak found out that she was lost. Where, she didn't know. Maybe she was lost in the forest, or lost in her life, or maybe she was lost in herself. It didn't really matter. That's the thing about being lost - you don't know where you are, and the only way you'll ever know is if someone tells you, and all you can do about it is wander around aimlessly until someone finds you, or until you find yourself. But no, she was lost with them all, and they with her. Where would they go? Further in the mountains? Mordor? Beyond? Either way, they were going in the wrong direction. Weren't they?
And then she knew that she was, indeed, truly lost, with no idea where she was. It hadn't occurred to her before - she knew where the camp was, and how far away she was from it. She knew how to get back, and she knew how to find a different path to take her there if need be. But it wasn't so simple as that. The forest must have a name. They must be somewhere with a name. But she didn't know that name, and she didn't know how to find her way out of it. She was completely and utterly lost. But at the moment, she was also lost for words.
Tagar let the moment of silence pass between them ungrudgingly, using the rare chance to look her daughter over, checking with a mother's keen eye's for any hint of a broken bone, an internal injury, a festering wound. What she found didn't surprise her. The girl sat hunched in a particular manner, one that appeared natural enough, but not natural for Erashnak. It was a revision to her posture, made unconsciously to give her comfort. It could mean a number of things - broken ribs, abdominal bruising, mild internal bleeding. Any of them could kill her, if she kept going on as she was. Sighing, Tagar tried to put on a smile for her only daughter, a mask to hide her own fears, but with failing she let the concern in her mind surface on her face. It would have to be soon. They could only trust to hope.
Erashnak, we need to get back to the camp. The sun will rise soon, and you need to eat something, and then you should sleep as long as you may. Suddenly Tagar frowned, her voice accusing, hoping that the girl would grasp what she meant and do as she asked. "You really don't look well at all."
But for all of her own heartache, Tagar didn't sound as bright or as strong as she normally did, and the tinge of grief on her voice and in her eyes served only to bleed her daughter's mood still further. Her mother's grief was her fault. Erashnak got up numbly, weaving a little as she waited for the dizziness of getting up too fast to wear away. Subdued, she let her mother's hands enfold her own, and felt her lips tremble as she looked down at the older orc, so much smaller, so pretty with her big eyes, like the sun, the dark marbled pattern of her skin, the black mass of her untamed hair.
"Mother..." she began, but went no further. Her voice was so strange - softly toned, deep, quiet. It didn't sound right to reply so to such a strong voice. Her mother's voice was always strong, soft or not. Erashnak's had never seemed so weak. Not in her memory. But then, her mind didn't seem to be working so well now at all.
Her shoulders shook with the rising need to open her mouth and just scream, scream until the hurt was drowned in the sound of it, scream until the endless motion of time would stop and turn back to a moment when she would be silent, and the world perfect as it would never be. But Erashnak didn't scream. She never screamed, nor let loose the blind emotions that welled up in her and sob, or laugh, or fume. Orcs didn't do those things, not like she would. Silent tears might run down her face, a smile might light her eyes. A shout might exclaim victory or pain. Nothing more. It would be too much to let loose at once, and safer in its ever deepening dam. She had never learned how to do anything more.
Erashnak glanced up at the sky, trying to force down the fierce prickling that burned her eyes with a threatened flow of new tears. Her face was already tight with the shining paths of tears already shed, falling in silence as she stood and tried to tell herself that everything that had happened was someone else's fault, only to come back to the conclusion that everything was actually her fault, again and again. She wanted desperately to point and blame and rage to everyone around her that no, it was their fault, not hers, if only so that she might be able to breath again. As it was, each labored breath that she was forced to suck into her lungs unwillingly swelled her chest with a pain that felt as if a heavy weight was being carefully set over her heart, so that she would slowly suffocate under its crushing presence.
In time, standing alone as the trees stood ghost-like about her in the gloom, she had finally begun to accept the fact that it was her. She alone was the sum of all their problems. It was her who plagued their noble family with ridicule. It was her who drove them away from the only home they had. And for some strange reason, a thread of fear and foretelling in the back of her mind, she knew it was her who would kill them all. Her skin prickled, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end.
She clung to her mother like a little child as they began to walk back. They had far to go, and their conversations lingered over silence, each seeming to know the heart of the other and offering nothing more than wordless understanding. But that was not all that held their tongues. The forest itself seemed to command it, with an ethereal quality that intimidated them both. Are all forests like that? Erashnak wondered. It was such a strange feeling, calming, and yet it seemed to put Tagar on edge while Erashnak puzzled over its... rightness.
Actually, she realized, Tagar seemed to be tense to the point of purest fear, though the emotions she conveyed through her touch were decidedly mixed - a battle of wills going on within her. Opening her mouth Erashnak breathed in deeper through her nose. There was a strange smell on the air. Becoming anxious at her own mother's fear, Erashnak suddenly forgot her woes and listened to the new sounds that had begun to plague her ears, almost too soft to be heard. They weren't animals. Their motions were slowed, masking their footsteps in stealth, almost circling. Like predators. But they didn't smell like predators of the wood. Erashnak had come across enough in the short time of their passage into the forest to know - that wasn't a pack of meat-seeking beasts, unless wolves had learned to walk on two feet. And they weren't orcs - their movement was too fluid.
Teetering on the edge of panic once more, Erashnak ignored the pain of her gasping breath and clutched at her mother again. Fear flooded her veins as she began to replay every tale she had ever been told in the fearsome enclosure of her mind. What were they? Some fairytale beast, half man and half wolf, or half deer perhaps, or all three, demons rising up from water and mist to hunt the trespassers of their forest, Werewolves hungry for the hunt, Fairies searching for a new plaything to entertain them.
Suddenly there was a buzzing in her ear, and Erashnak heaved all her weight against Tagar, sending them both to the ground as an arrow whistled past them before disappearing into the shadows once more.
"Run!" Tagar screamed, pushing her daughter away. Erashnak stared at her in surprise and fear as the older orc hauled her to her feet and pushed her again. "Run! I'll follow right behind you!" she added, when she realized that Erashnak was going nowhere without her.
Another arrow flew past, one that had only missed them by a inch, as if the bow that shot it had been jerked away when Erashnak stepped back in front of Tagar. Thoroughly panicked, Earshnak jumped away and didn't need the push her mother gave her to find a path and run for all she was worth. A coward, the sane part of her mind coursed, running away from your fears. But the Erashnak who had almost been impaled by an arrow couldn't even hear, the pound of her running feet and the beating of her heart ruled over all sound, sending all thoughts of stopping far, far away. More arrows flew, and several most certainly did not hit wood or earth. But a second set of footsteps had manifested to her right, and fear took her on through misery and hurt without end.
Suddenly she realized that she should be happy. Those footsteps were her mother's, and soon they would both stop and embrace and all would be well again. But in her heart, and in that annoying bit of sanity in the back of her mind, she knew that those footsteps were not Tagar's. They were too quick, too soft, and too pursuing. Tagar would simply be running. This creature was trying to overtake her, and succeeding in its task.
Everything within her grinded to a halt, crashing down into a pit of broken rubble. Her legs went on only because there was nothing left in her to stop them. The pieces came together, and the puzzle was beat against her again and again, knocking the wind out of her lungs as it overwhelmed her senses with pain. Her mother had fallen. She had stayed behind. The arrows had hit her, the ones that hadn't hit wood or earth, embedding their sharp heads in living flesh and bleeding out the life of all she had left.
Her knees snapped again and she blundered about for a moment before grinding her teeth and running on, running through an endless path of agony that she hadn't let herself understand yet. she would come to terms with it after she collapsed, when consciousness came back and she lay half-dead on the earth. Then she would come to terms with all she had lost, and mourn all she would never have. But for now, she would run.
And then the footsteps returned to her mind, mostly because they were ahead of her. Struck once more with fear, Erashnak stumbled left and right, trying to find a way to become lost in the forest. But her hunter was cunning and swift. The running footsteps curved around her, dimming until they were almost gone before coming back, running straight toward her, relentless, giving her no room to turn and run the other way. A strange voice called out as she neared hopelessly, and then Erashnak knew what hunted her.
She knew few words of elvish, only what an elf might say as they slaughtered orcs or were slaughtered in turn. But the lilt she could guess anywhere, a fear embedded in her breeding. Suddenly he was there, and she was ready to make sure her death was not alone, instinct drawing her sword and driving her toward the attack. Orcs die only at a stand.
The elf, more than surprised, dropped bow and arrow and crossed her blade with his own. Somewhat calmed by the sudden lack of motion, Erashnak ran the edge of her sword up his long knife, drawing his gaze after the sliding blade before flicking it back down with all of her fading, minuscule might. The elf leaped back with a cry, and Erashnak, already on edge, was thrown off.
Her left knee was numb, she realized, as she started backward. The joint flexed and popped - in the wrong direction. Stumbling yet again she found herself sitting on the ground rather unceremoniously, a dull ache rising up in protest. Now staring up from her new, strange vantage point, it took a moment for shock to bleed away and let her move again. Despairing, she shoved the heels of her hands into her eye sockets to stop the tears. Now she would die, alone in a world that hated her, since the time of her birth. Alone. Opening her eyes, she watched the ground, waiting for the final blow, surprised at how easy it was just to give up on life.
A moment passed, and then another. The elf stood back, not glancing at the long cut that ran the length of his hand, red drops gathering and falling to feed the earth, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Then, seeming to snap back to life, three strides took him to her side, kneeling down at once to see if she was hurt. Erashnak gave a yelp when the elf's face suddenly appeared before her own, full of concern, and within an instant she had grabbed her sword again and dug the hilt into his stomach, pitching forward to throw him down even as she landed on her own feet once more.
Poised to strike, Erashnak gazed down at the tall figure sprawled out below her, but for some reason she hesitated. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing an elf, a creature who looked so much like her. He was taller, of course, and his hair golden, his eyes blue. An elf. The creature of utmost fear. And yet - so much like her. The only one who could answer so many questions... And yet the only one who struck fear in every chord of her body.
And yet maybe again it was the look that had been in his eyes, the pure concern that had radiated from his every feature. Nothing evil was like that - was it? Was it his wide-eyed surprise, gazing up at her as if he couldn't possibly believe they had switched placed so fast? Or was it the bleeding gash that made her stop, frozen with sword raised. Red blood. The color of her blood. For some reason, it seemed to mean more than anything.
And then, rising on his elbows as he watched her stare at him in surprise and confusion, he threw his head back and laughed, soft, quiet, but still laughter. Erashnak felt her eyes widen as her brows shot up. Laughter? Not orc laughter, low and menacing even in mirth, not balrog laughter, cruel and distant, enough to put fear in the heart of the bravest. It was like hearing laughter for the first time, loud and resonant it seemed, no matter how soft, and beautiful. How could she had thought that an elf's laugh would be so harsh and dark? It was the perfect inverse of everything painful and empty she had even gone through, the complete opposite of every spiteful word she had ever heard. A smile stretched her lips. She couldn't help it - his laughter was infectious.
But as for the elf, he let his laughter fade away when she replied with her uncertain smile. At least it was a bit more encouraging a reply than her rather uncomforting trick with the sword hilt. But just as much as she couldn't have kept herself from smiling, he couldn't have stopped the laugh if she were leading a troll around by a chain. The sight of her tottering around on unsteady legs, sitting down with a thud, eyes wide as saucers in surprise, and lips trembling as if she were about to cry, reminded him so much of a little child taking its first steps that he couldn't have helped it at all when he crouched down to see if she was injured. And then his eyes must have been just as wide when she flipped him down on his own backside, switching places like magic. Though he wasn't quite sure, one would have thought that an elf-maiden would have been a bit more pleased with being rescued. And so, laughter was inevitable. Each thought the other was something they most certainly were not, and in the deepest, darkest corners of their minds, some foretelling imp was laughing for all he was worth at their foolishness. If it shown through their unconscious actions, there could have been no helping it, and perhaps the things that are thought about least are the things that are best to do.
And so it was with Erashnak. Laughter was the last and final factor of this newest encounter that she could place on her list of tallies, pushing her away from 'kill and run for it' toward 'stay and watch'. Giving him a curious, if cautious sidelong glance, she felt her sword drop out of her hand and fall to the ground with a dull thud. The elf's gaze followed it, noting once more that it was an elvish blade, most certainly not the common weapon of an orc. To him it was yet another deciding element in the one-sided argument that she was a captive among them. Of course, he couldn't have known that the only reason she used the elf-sword was because she couldn't lift any weapon that a normal orc would use. Her family had found the sword and given it to her, so that she could defend herself at least a little.
Standing up a bit cautiously himself, trying not to spook her again, the elf took a careful step forward. Then, suddenly, impulsively, Erashnak herself stepped up, hesitantly at best, but too lost in her marveling, mixed curiosity to conjure any lasting thought of true fear. One of his hands, the one she had cut, was held a little before him, not quite nursing the wound, but not being all too casual with it all the same. Erashnak was transfixed beyond words, staring so intently that she didn't even notice how close she had come. His hand was as pale as hers, but somewhat larger and longer fingered. She had never seen a hand like hers before, and held up her own before her as if to make sure what she was seeing was real. And it was - their hands were virtually the same.
Cocking an eyebrow, the elf held up his own hand to see if he couldn't find out just what had snapped her into such a thoughtful state. All he saw was the bit of blood on his hand, which had mostly dried to a stiff brownish color already. Thoroughly confused, he watched her tentatively flex her fingers, her eyes darting from one hand to the other.
It was primitive instinct that ruled once again. She couldn't have helped it if he'd had a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and a serrated sword held up for the swing. Swaying numbly forward, she set the heel of her palm against his and lay her hand out flat. She was right, his hand was bigger than hers, but exactly the same besides. Both had none of the normal callusing of a swordsman's hands - the skin was merely strong, tougher than more sheltered flesh. And his hand was warm, but not the unpleasant warm she was used to. It was a blood-warm, a warmth that heralds nothing more than life.
She stood astonished, gazing at the first time her hand had ever fit against the hand of another. Always the hands of her people had been strangely concave, hard and large, and her hand had only been able to touch a few risen belts of muscle when both stretched their hands out flat.
The elf, if possible, was even more amazed than Erashnak. Her sudden outreach was more than unexpected, and completely uncharacteristic of his kind (and hers as well, to tell the truth). She had seemed so afraid just a moment ago, and yet suddenly now she had her hand flat against his, looking as if she had never seen one before. And just as instinctively as she had done, the elf curled his fingers, their hands separating for a moment, almost as if shrinking away from her sudden touch, and then matched their fingertips. Both already surprised at each other and themselves, it was more than they could take when their skin touched again and sent a static shock through their hands. The elf flinched, blinking in wonder, but Erashnak nearly jumped out of her skin, stumbling backward a few steps before quickly examining her hand. But it only took a moment for her to fix her stare back on him, eyes a little less wide, and a bit calmer than he'd thought she would be.
Seeing her sword on the ground, he stared for a moment before swiftly picking it up, careful to be as unthreatening as could be, and glanced at the runes on the blade before handing it to her hilt first. She too stared for a moment before slowly raising her hand and twisting her fingers around it. The corners of her mouth crooked up for a moment as she slid it back into her scabbard, and the elf noticed that she almost missed and had to look, using both hands to steady herself. Ignoring this for the time being and taking her suppressed smile as a good sign, he decided it was time to speak at last, thought he felt shaken to the core.
"I am Haldir," he said, but got no further for the fact that she flinched at the words, pulling back again with no hint of recognition on her features.
It was more than surprise. Not only did she not understand him, she was literally terrified of him, and every word he said. Perhaps she was taken as a baby, he thought, and raised like an orc. He nodded internally. That had to be it. She was raised as an orc for most of her life, and would need reminded about her true heritage before she could calm down and act it.
In a state of denial, he would realize some time later. It was terrible logic, and yet it was all he had at the moment. And so, deciding that any elvish tongue would be a risk, it was Westron that he chose to use next.
"I am Haldir," he repeated in the common tongue, hoping that his accent wouldn't set her off again, "Captain of the Guard."
It was strange, how much she felt like a bird sitting on his finger, and he found himself trying to speak softly so that she wouldn't dart away. "Do you understand this speech?"
Erashnak took half a step back, perplexed. All orcs of the higher circles were taught the common language. It was the only way they could speak to orcs of different creeds from their own, whose languages were many. But it had never even occurred to her that elves might know Westron as well. For some reason it made her feel even more threatened, finding out that elves weren't some strange creature beyond understanding. Being able to understand his words was more a shock than she could rightly bear. It took a moment for her to realize that he had told her his name. It seemed so wrong, for an elf just to stand up and say 'I am Haldir.' But, for the record, she couldn't think of what would have been better to say. And so, she hesitated greatly before forming her reply, the only reply she could think of.
I am Erashnak, she said, unconsciously massaging her hand.
Haldir stared at her for a moment. He hadn't truly been expecting to be given an orcish name, and it threw him for words until he remembered the role he had already assigned her in his mind. It was only understandable, that one raised among orcs would have an orcish name. But still...
"You are not injured?" he probed, and she shook her head slowly. It took her a second to realize that this was a lie, but he had already gone on before she could have corrected herself, not that she would have.
If you are fit enough to walk, then, we need to be moving on. We can meet up with my company by tomorrow, if we go on at a fair pace. I am sorry that our meeting must be so... unceremonious, understatement of the century, "but I fear we are still in danger here."
Erashnak stared at him still, her lips pressed into a line as she bit them together anxiously. Everything was happening so fast! Going with the elf had never occurred to her - she needed to get back to camp and see what she could do. And yet, she knew in her heart, that all she would find would be bodies. She didn't let her mind linger over that for anything more than a second, focusing instead on what might become of her, alone. It was a much safer thought. But again and again, the only answer that included surviving began with following the elf... following Haldir.
She nodded her head numbly, and after fixing her with a questioning, concerned gaze for a moment, Haldir turned and looked out over the forest, picking the best path to the destination set for them to regroup.
Running after Erashnak hadn't been a spontaneous thing. It was because of her that they had staked out the orc camp in the first place instead of waiting to catch them all at the most convenient time. When she bolted, it was quickly decided that Haldir would follow while his company cleaned up. He sent them on without him to search for any more encampments before they regrouped, but he hadn't expected the girl to run so fast or so far. It would take quite a bit of walking to reach the outpost.
This way, said Haldir, picking up his bow and replacing the arrow in his quiver as an afterthought, and slowly, hesitantly, she followed in his wake, feeling empty for all of the pain she was penning up inside her, but felt the curiosity in her bloom was she caught sight of the elf running a finger over his hand as well. To her thought it was a very strange, new world she had entered into - and if only she knew how much stranger it would become.
~*~
A/N #2: I think this is all veRy funny. Most people add in an orc attack when they nEed a bit of action. I add in an elf attack. I just can't stand it, lol. Anyway, this might be a good time to tell you that this Haldir is book-based. Sorry lasses, but I really didn't like the movie Version of him. He was much nIcer in the books, in my opinion, and that's what I'm looking for. I couldn't very well writE a fanfiction and not put in one of my favorite characters, noW could I?