Faces of War
Chapter 21: Withdrawing
Warning: This chapter exemplifies the brutality of Anborn...pain "beyond reckoning" pulls at Frodo...I tried not to be too gruesome, too explicit....yet the horror of reason lost, of hatred beyond reason, were calls that needed to be answered. Our "baddie" Anborn is twisted, warped by the injustice he felt was done to him before....and no, we have not seen the last of him...it's just that "calmer" heads....ie Dalmer's had to prevail...or this would be a much shorter story! This is a short chapter...I mean, really, how much angst can one of 3'8" endure? There's no "impropriety" here...ie while Frodo is desired, he is not conquered in that fashion!
Disclaimer: I am no J.R.R. Tolkein....but I really enjoy the reality of his contrived characters!
ShireBaggins...That was a tough chapter, this one seems even tougher in some ways....but even when most subdued, when events around him seem most helpless....Frodo finds a "spark"...the tenacity that brought him through Mordor was not a fluke! Frodo finds his strength in that little place inside him that refuses to believe that evil is meant to happen, that the small goodnesses of many will ultimately the "badness" of others!
ClaudiaofBree....Anborn is vile,his evil seems to know no bounds....he is not driven by passion
( like Bramblethorn in M. Bradfords's engrossing images), or by lust...like your well crafted ruffians...but by vengeance and a misplaced sense of reprisal...he will have what though was his due....no matter who he hurts!
endymion....Anborn is vile, beyond reason I'm afraid....passion and resentment will do that to a man! ( or a woman I suppose....). Frodo will recover....and yes, you guessed it, the love and caring...hobbity snuggles...will be important! Sorry for your confusion....Sam wants to "head out" right away....but you'll see in the next chapter ( 22) that Gimli....while wanting to be supportive, also feels a sense of responsibility...and he won't "seek" help himself until the next morning. Sam knows he can do nothing alone....and so he waits....
Frodo's world was pain. Pain was the only sense he could put a name to, that had any meaning to him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes the pain would be more as he felt hand or leather straps assail him. At times it would be less as he was left to merely hang by wrists made slippery with his own blood from the chafing of the rope about them, hands and arms lost to all sensation save numbness. But, there was always the company of pain. In his moments of semi-wakefulness he found himself wondering if he'd snapped, if his mind so long beset by shadows and the weight of evil, had finally left him. His thoughts wove in and out of his control and he found himself wondering if the scream he'd last emitted was to be the last sound he would ever make, for he could not bring sound forth any longer, no matter the pain.
His muteness drove Anborn into a frenzy of anger as he sought to bully the battered Hobbit with words as well as force. "Yer pleadin' and whimperin' may give me pause halfling" the man grunted as he raised the leather thong once more. A sharp 'crack' punctuated his words and Frodo felt the coolness of a tear slide down his face. Anborn waited for Frodo's cry of anguish, but none came. He snarled his frustration, he dropped the leather strap in disgust upon the floor of the cave and let it lie there, it's blood encrusted ends a clear testament to the pain it had inflicted. He slowly walked around the nearly senseless Hobbit dangling before him, stopping in front of him he grasped Frodo's cheeks cruelly, his filthy fingers leaving dirt to mingle with the sheen of tears and sweat. "Ye'll not escape my attentions this easily my sweet, I 'll have ya beggin' for mercy...I'll hear yer howls of pain...as my men heard mine" the angry soldier stared with hatred into the pain dulled eyes of the ringbearer. "Oh yes" Anborn continued "Ye'll not be let off so easily....for I certainly was not!".
Frodo's vision became blurry, the face of terror before him faded in and out of view until his eyes rolled back and his head lolled forward as he lost consciousness. A sudden wave of icy water hit him fully, streams of cold running down his back and through his hair, the water and blood dripping and pooling beneath him in shades of pink and crimson. His eyes, now fully open, could not tear themselves away from the puddles that ran together under him and he found his disjointed mind thinking how the colors reminded him the rose bushes outside his window at Bag End. Anborn was before him again and Frodo felt long fingers grip his wet curls as his head was forced back and his eyes once more stared into the cold grey depths of pure hatred. "I'm not yet finished with you" the man said, his voice filled with disdain "where's yer manners? Ye should look ta yer betters as they speak ta ya." Anborn backhand Frodo to give his words meaning and getting no response backhanded him several more times until Frodo finally communicated the only way he could, he nodded. "That's better" Anborn snarled as he paused in his beating long enough to take stock of the hobbit before him. "My brother tells me yer held high in the favors 'o the King...how high we shall soon see...though he might not find ya so much ta his likin' when I'm done with ya" Anborn ran his hand slowly down Frodo's bruised and swollen face and over his wet chest. Frodo trembled from the chill of the water and the indignity of the man's caress. Anborn laughed "Find that ta yer likin' did ya?...Well there's more where that came from " Anborn brought both hands to Frodo's cheeks and held his face cupped lovingly between his large hands and as his pitiless grey eyes stared to the depths of terror stricken blue he brought his lips down in a bruising and brutal kiss. Frodo felt shame and humiliation fill him, he fought it, willing his anger to rise up and fight this indignity he struggled to free his face from Anborns grasp. Anborn held him all the tighter, hands squeezing, crushing the small head before him, his lips exerted his violent control. With a last weary effort, Frodo managed to place a well aimed kick to Anborns body that caused the man to yelp in pain and back away holding the spot where the kick had landed.
Frodo was gasping for air and watched in horror as Anborn's anger took control of him. "Ya'll pay fer that" he gasped as he picked up a piece of kindling from the nearby hearth and brought it down repeatedly upon the Hobbit's head and torso. "Anborn...stop it, ye'll kill him" Dalmer screamed as Anborn felt his hand stopped in mid swing. The two brothers stood stock still and stared one another down. With hands still raised, Anborn panting in his rage, Dalmer continued "Brother...control yer anger....killin' 'em won't help you get back what you've lost...nor will it get us what we've worked so hard for." The rage slowly left Anborn's face, the fire in his eyes slowly went out and he lowered his arms as he dropped the stick. Anborn looked to the now unconscious figure of the Hobbit, blood ran down his face from a gash upon his head and the ribbon of red slowly dripped, tiny rivulets adding darker pigments to the puddles of water beneath him.
Anborn laughed, his harsh laughter sounding unnaturally loud in the stark resonating depths of the cave. "Yes Dalmer...yar right....I won't get back what I've lost" he harshly gripped Frodo's damp and bloody curls yanking his head back to view the fair features of the Hobbit, "but nor will he." He let go the dark curls and allowed Frodo's head to fall forward to his chest. He stepped back and admired his handiwork as his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Anborn, ye've had him here long enough...what's done 'tis done. The Children 'ave refused ta go ta the mines since ye've 'ad 'im here....and my scouts tell me we may have company soon. We gotta get him back ta the children's cave....way ta the back. I'm sending Galen in ta bring 'im back." Dalmer walked forward and placed a companionable arm about his brother's shoulders "Let him recover some...let me get a few more day's a work outta them orphans....then we'll take care of 'em once and fer all and you may yet have more time ta....enjoy yerself with this one" he said tilting his head in the direction of the battered hobbit before them.
Anborn laughed " 'tis a deal brother....I'm afraid I have no more patience for halfling games right now....but if yer lucky...I may share 'im with ya later." Dalmer grimaced a bit "Thank ya fer thinkin' of me...but I'll stick with the lasses.....now let's get him outta here."
Frodo,was dimly aware of voices, words spoken that registered only as strings of sounds in his fevered mind. Soon the voices faded and he was left alone, he forced himself to look deep within himself, sought a quiet spot within his mind, a place of peace to rest. His body found the refuge of a catatonic state and he held to his oblivion, willing his mind to retreat to the smallest corner of his being, and he refused to come back.
He felt hands upon him again, he fought to back away from conscious thought, strove to maintain the sanctuary of comfort his battered mind had found, but these hands were gentle, caring and he craved the kindness of their touch. He listened again as words flowed about him, sounds that wove a soothing blanket of concern, and he began to make sense of what was happening around him.
The hands held him gently, cautiously cutting the ropes from his raw wrists until arms that had lost all sensation began the new agony of gradually returning circulation. He felt himself cradled carefully in strong arms which sought to wrap his chilled and naked form in the softness of a large cloak. He was dimly aware of being seated, propped beside the figure of the one who'd cut him down, and of water being placed near his lips. He knew that somehow he was meant to do something with the water, but had forgotten how to swallow and felt the wetness flow down his chin. The arms brought him once more closer, wrapped him in the protection of a firm embrace and supportive lap. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking into the face that belonged to the hands and arms that offered comfort. The face looked to him, brow furrowed and lips moving, the face was upset and as Frodo stared vacantly at the features above him he wondered why he was worthy of such upset. The face was urging, begging him, pleading for him to give up his sanctuary. He stared for what seemed forever to the face, not wanting to comprehend, not wanting to come back to sensations of pain and misery, but through his mist of denial, the words the face spoke began to make sense.
Galen had stared in horror at the scene before him as he was bidden to collect what was left of Frodo to return him to the children's cave. The battered and filthy hobbit moved not at all and for a brief moment he feared he'd come too late. He strode across the room taking his knife from his sheath he quickly cut him down and was relieved to find the barest traces of life in the Hobbit's weak heartbeat and shallow breaths. He cradled him gently, tried to wrap his battered and icy body in a cloak and sat beside him on a nearby cot. He spoke anxiously, trying to gain entrance to the hobbit's mind. He attempted to give the injured hobbit water, to no avail. Frodo did not respond so he carefully picked him up and placed him upon his lap and tried again. "Mr. Frodo" he whispered, his big voice cracking with the strain of trying to quiet itself to soft and gentle tones "Oh Frodo...sir...fer what he's done ta ya...I'll spend my life sick for the world of men" he gulped and swallowed a building sob "we gotta get yer back ta the wee ones Sir...they refused ta work when ye didn't come back...fer two days they been on strike" he couldn't hide the pride he felt in the actions of these hardy orphans...but he still hadn't gotten through, hadn't penetrated the fog that had wrapped itself about the Hobbit's senses, he tried again. He gently stroked Frodo's matted curls "Dalmer says we got visitors comin'...the King's provisioning officers...they're halflings too Sir....I've got orders ta get ya back to the children...deep in the tunnels...so they don't come upon ya, or so Dalmer says." Frodo's head lolled listlessly against Galen's broad chest as the man carefully stood up and began to move back towards the opening of the cave.
Frodo heard "Provisioning officers"..."Halfings too" and the sounds suddenly became words and in a storm of understanding his thoughts began to return to him. He gasped, as if he'd been underwater and had suddenly found air. Galen stopped his movements and looked with concern to the hobbit he carried so carefully in his arms. "Sir?" Galen asked, his eyes searching the swollen and bruised face beneath his gaze as he waited for a reply. Frodo put his last remnant of strength into this next effort "stop.....down....here" he whispered weakly. Galen looked to the mingled water and blood upon the floor at his feet and looked questioningly to Frodo. Frodo tried again "down...now....please" he gasped. Galen knelt carefully, not wanting to put the battered Hobbit into the mess at his feet, but Frodo's eyes pleaded and so Galen lay him gently upon his side and watched as Frodo found his last reserves of strength and scratched several symbols in the mud left by his blood and watery torment. When Frodo appeared to be done Galen lifted him once more in his arms and started back out of the cave, but his curiosity got the better of him and he asked. "What was that ye scratched on ta the floor Sir?" Frodo's whisper could barely be heard so Galen bent his head closer to Frodo's bruised lips and listened again "elvish....symbols" he said, voice barely registering in the hearing of the large man. Galen nodded and he looked to the Hobbit's large blue eyes "What symbols Sir....what da they say?" he prompted. Frodo took a deeply indrawn and shuddering breath, tears welled up making his eyes seem even larger "namarie mea goveanen.......it means...it is a way to say farewell." Frodo closed his eyes, exhausted by the weight of the message and the effort it took to leave it. As Galen continued through the tunnels to the children's cave, he saw a single tear slip through the dirt and bruises and blood upon the hobbit's face.