A/N: This chapter is rated R for explicit violence. If you can't stomach that sort of thing, kindly move on to the next chapter. If you're worried about missing an important premise of the plot, it will be explained in later chapters.
Namárië!
When she awoke, she was tied to a rack, and she felt blood dripping down her right cheek from a cut above her eyebrow. Two orcs stood by.
They spoke amongst themselves in a brutal-sounding tongue that Farothwen could not understand. She could only speak Elvish, and she was still trying to learn to read. Her father did not have the education nor the resources to teach her anything else.
The orcs were having some sort of disagreement about her. She thought they might be trying to decide what she was - Elven or human. The argument stopped when one reached out and touched her ear.
Farothwen flinched and tried to draw away. 'Don't touch me!' she said menacingly.
The other orc, who was practically salivating, raised an eyebrow. He turned to his companion and said something. The other one chuckled evilly. He looked to be plotting something.
Farothwen's eyes lost their defiance. She had heard horrible tales about these orcs in the depths of Moria where no Dwarves dwell. She thought that they might be planning to do something to her - hurt her, or maybe kill her. 'Oh, Eru, no, please,' she whispered. Her fear reached fever pitch when she saw one of them fingering a whip. He gave a quiet order to the other.
He seized Farothwen by her bound hands and cut the rope tying her to the rack. He dragged her bound feet on the ground as he pulled her over to a nearby pole. He tied her hands above her head, her back facing him. He got a dagger and slowly dragged it down the back of her dress, slitting the fabric, revealing her back. He licked his lips.
Farothwen struggled, but all she got was a cut on the back for her efforts. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered something, licking her cheek. Farothwen was almost physically sick. The smell was putrid. She closed her eyes. There was no one to help her, no means of escape. She was utterly alone.
'Get off me!' she screamed.
He stepped back. Farothwen thought she had won. She didn't know they could understand her language and she was hopeful she could convince them to let her go. She wasn't prepared for the multi-thonged whip to come down hard on her bare back. Her scream echoed through the caverns. She was certain she heard an orc laugh as she whimpered. She felt blood dripping down her back, soaked up by her shredded riding dress. She was crying.
The orc with the whip muttered something else, directed at her. He whipped her again, her scream even louder. She was desperately trying to stay quiet, nearly biting through her lip.
A third orc came, and he untied her and dragged her back onto the rack, pushing her onto her bloodied and bruised back. She cried out in pain.
The newcomer had a piece of iron heating in a nearby fire. The first orc was still salivating. He asked something of the orc with the whip and got a shouted reply.
The third orc came over, the piece of iron in his hand red-hot. He gave the salivating orc an order.
He held her right arm out and her hand flat. 'No, please,' Farothwen whispered, her body in shock. He looked at her and said something quietly, no doubt something perverse. He laughed evilly.
The iron-bearing orc went over to Farothwen's outstretched arm. He softly laid the hot iron on the palm of her hand. Her cries were loud, but were starting to diminish with her energy and resilience.
He used his other hand to curl her hand around the hot iron and he held it there. Farothwen was screaming in the most intense pain she had ever experienced. She thought she might pass out. She could smell her flesh burning. Her strength was fading. Finally, he released her hand. Her flesh was burnt black.
If there was a hell, this was it. Farothwen gave up on her life - she would die here in these caverns. She had nothing to live for. Her father should have killed her when she was a baby. Death would be an escape from this. Anything was better than this.
The orcs flipped her on her back. She heard one of them dragging a heavy sack over to the rack. She was face down in a pool of her own blood.
Suddenly she felt an intense sting on her back, which then turned into intense pain. The orcs were rubbing salt into her whip lashes. Her weak screams were muffled by her position, the orc's laughter echoing in her head. She screamed until she could scream no longer. Finally, they painfully wiped all the salt off.
The salivating orc asked the others something. They sighed and replied, clearly fed up with him. He was licking his lips in anticipation. He whispered in Farothwen's ear, and her fear grew even more. This orc was slimy and lecherous, and clearly he had other intentions for Farothwen. She was shaking uncontrollably. This was her worst fear.
'No, please, let me go,' she whispered.
He stroked her bloody cheek, making her flinch. He flipped her onto her back again and ripped off the remains of her ripped dress, and then cut off her skirt, leaving her dressed in only her leggings and boots, her weapons confiscated.
The pain Farothwen was in ravaged her entire body, and she felt like she had nothing left. She didn't have the strength and will to fight any more. She felt herself slip into unconsciousness as the orc started touching her...
Namárië!
When she awoke, she was tied to a rack, and she felt blood dripping down her right cheek from a cut above her eyebrow. Two orcs stood by.
They spoke amongst themselves in a brutal-sounding tongue that Farothwen could not understand. She could only speak Elvish, and she was still trying to learn to read. Her father did not have the education nor the resources to teach her anything else.
The orcs were having some sort of disagreement about her. She thought they might be trying to decide what she was - Elven or human. The argument stopped when one reached out and touched her ear.
Farothwen flinched and tried to draw away. 'Don't touch me!' she said menacingly.
The other orc, who was practically salivating, raised an eyebrow. He turned to his companion and said something. The other one chuckled evilly. He looked to be plotting something.
Farothwen's eyes lost their defiance. She had heard horrible tales about these orcs in the depths of Moria where no Dwarves dwell. She thought that they might be planning to do something to her - hurt her, or maybe kill her. 'Oh, Eru, no, please,' she whispered. Her fear reached fever pitch when she saw one of them fingering a whip. He gave a quiet order to the other.
He seized Farothwen by her bound hands and cut the rope tying her to the rack. He dragged her bound feet on the ground as he pulled her over to a nearby pole. He tied her hands above her head, her back facing him. He got a dagger and slowly dragged it down the back of her dress, slitting the fabric, revealing her back. He licked his lips.
Farothwen struggled, but all she got was a cut on the back for her efforts. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered something, licking her cheek. Farothwen was almost physically sick. The smell was putrid. She closed her eyes. There was no one to help her, no means of escape. She was utterly alone.
'Get off me!' she screamed.
He stepped back. Farothwen thought she had won. She didn't know they could understand her language and she was hopeful she could convince them to let her go. She wasn't prepared for the multi-thonged whip to come down hard on her bare back. Her scream echoed through the caverns. She was certain she heard an orc laugh as she whimpered. She felt blood dripping down her back, soaked up by her shredded riding dress. She was crying.
The orc with the whip muttered something else, directed at her. He whipped her again, her scream even louder. She was desperately trying to stay quiet, nearly biting through her lip.
A third orc came, and he untied her and dragged her back onto the rack, pushing her onto her bloodied and bruised back. She cried out in pain.
The newcomer had a piece of iron heating in a nearby fire. The first orc was still salivating. He asked something of the orc with the whip and got a shouted reply.
The third orc came over, the piece of iron in his hand red-hot. He gave the salivating orc an order.
He held her right arm out and her hand flat. 'No, please,' Farothwen whispered, her body in shock. He looked at her and said something quietly, no doubt something perverse. He laughed evilly.
The iron-bearing orc went over to Farothwen's outstretched arm. He softly laid the hot iron on the palm of her hand. Her cries were loud, but were starting to diminish with her energy and resilience.
He used his other hand to curl her hand around the hot iron and he held it there. Farothwen was screaming in the most intense pain she had ever experienced. She thought she might pass out. She could smell her flesh burning. Her strength was fading. Finally, he released her hand. Her flesh was burnt black.
If there was a hell, this was it. Farothwen gave up on her life - she would die here in these caverns. She had nothing to live for. Her father should have killed her when she was a baby. Death would be an escape from this. Anything was better than this.
The orcs flipped her on her back. She heard one of them dragging a heavy sack over to the rack. She was face down in a pool of her own blood.
Suddenly she felt an intense sting on her back, which then turned into intense pain. The orcs were rubbing salt into her whip lashes. Her weak screams were muffled by her position, the orc's laughter echoing in her head. She screamed until she could scream no longer. Finally, they painfully wiped all the salt off.
The salivating orc asked the others something. They sighed and replied, clearly fed up with him. He was licking his lips in anticipation. He whispered in Farothwen's ear, and her fear grew even more. This orc was slimy and lecherous, and clearly he had other intentions for Farothwen. She was shaking uncontrollably. This was her worst fear.
'No, please, let me go,' she whispered.
He stroked her bloody cheek, making her flinch. He flipped her onto her back again and ripped off the remains of her ripped dress, and then cut off her skirt, leaving her dressed in only her leggings and boots, her weapons confiscated.
The pain Farothwen was in ravaged her entire body, and she felt like she had nothing left. She didn't have the strength and will to fight any more. She felt herself slip into unconsciousness as the orc started touching her...