Faces of War
Chapter 33: Rescuing
Disclaimer: Alas, these lovely characters are not mine...they are but a portion of the genius that lurked in the mind of JRR Tolkien...bless his soul!
Many thanks to the faithful reviewers...and the occasional comments of the periodic "rogue" readers....I have somehow or another amassed the rather startling number of 100 reviews...many, many thanks for making this exercise of mind and heart so rewarding!
Iorhael....thanks for hanging in there...it's been a tough summer, not as much time to write as I'd hoped....I am positively loving your latest updates...keep it up! Yes, Frodo's feverish mind is wandering to memories he swore he'd never again open....but is it only in his mind?
Shire Baggins...Something is telling Sam quite a lot actually...he'll "learn" more in the next few chapters...You shall see that the generations of hate that governed the relations of men and Orcs will be difficult to overcome....The boy whom Aragorn believes to be Frodo will have a part to play later...Aragorn is suffering from many emotions now...fear, guilt, hatred....Frodo's fevered mind is a blessing really...it is allowing him to "weaken" his resolve, to let a glimmer of past lives and loves enter, a "chink" in his defenses is opening...but where will it lead? Thanks for the nice review....it is so much fun to write, and the mere thought that my ramblings are amusing to another is gratifying beyond belief....
BraellyraLeatherleaf....now that is an interesting pen name....were you once upon a time known as "noonespecial"? ( If so, I beg to differ....)....wow, thanks for the thoughtful and kind review...and bless you for being the 100th reviewer....I'd like to say you win a prize...but...the only prize I can offer is another chapter! I'm afraid that our noble hobbit is not out of danger yet...and yes, Chrys' appearance was a rejuvenating influence of sorts for Frodo....in his dreams he can allow himself the luxury of "spending time" with his lost love....will he "see" her again? You'll find out! Thanks for the very kind review....I hope you'll keep reading...there are so many great stories out there, I know that it can be difficult to choose which ones to "stick" with!
Heat, he could almost feel the heat of the bruised and sun reddened cheeks, the skin dry and coated with a layer of grime. He longed to reach out and wipe the dirt from those cheeks, to brush the lank curls from the bruised forehead and coax the chapped lips open with a dipper of sweet water. His eyes traveled the length of the inert form beside him, clothes torn and bloodied, chest rising awkwardly as each breath brought both agony and relief, for at least these shuddering breaths spoke still of life, a spark yet alight in a body so broken. The forlorn body shifted ever so slightly and he leaned over, not wanting to lose this chance, needing to hear the voice he so longed for, he leaned still closer. Wide blue eyes, a gaze devoid of hope, a look of bleak despair and endless doubt met his."Save them Sam...give them hope....my time is nearly at an end" the voice rasped brokenly as the eyes sent their last heartfelt message and slowly closed. He looked in shock as the torn garments, rent and stained, slowly ceased to rise and fall as the frail chest gave up it's struggle and the fight for life sustaining air was lost. He lifted his head, rocked back on his heels and clenched his fists in anger as his eyes looked to the distant river vista he felt a scream rise from the depths of his pain "Frodo...nooooo!".
Sam woke shuddering with fear, his blankets drenched in the sweat of his terror. He lifted a shaky hand to his cheek and felt the tears that were the aftermath of this dream. It took a few moments for him to master his ragged breathing and he leaned up upon one elbow to see that his night terrors had not woken the others. He clenched his lips tightly and collapsed back to his bedroll, 'twas a bad one that was' he thought to himself and he knew he'd not find any more rest so he gently unencumbered himself from the tangle of hobbits beside him and walked on stealthy feet to the picket line the horses were tied to. As he walked he noted the shadowy shape of several Elven guards as they conversed softly by the faint glow of the cloud shrouded moon. This last dream, it was much like all the others he'd had, each night's terror brought him one step closer he felt, one image further than the one before.
He tried to recall the details of the dream, not the pain and suffering on his masters face, no, those he knew of already in his heart. As he neared the perimeter of the camp he heard the soft whinny of Bill and he hastened to the side of his four footed companion. As he leaned his head to the coarse fur of Bill's mane, his hand absently scratched the warmth and twitching softness of the pony's ears. He closed his eyes, putting himself once more back in the agony of his dream and in his mind's eye he could see it, the river...the endless shimmering highway of water that stretched across the lands of Gondor. His head shot up and he looked frantically about him at the thirty some odd sleeping orphans, the array of Elves and the bedrolls of Merry, Pippin and Gimli and he knew. He knew they'd never let him go, knew that by the time they'd all been convinced and started on their way it would be too late. He took a deep breath and crept silently, as only a hobbit could, through the camp as he carefully gathered what he would need. With his supplies carefully chosen and stowed in his pack he gathered Bills Reins and walked the sturdy pony out of view of the sentries and clambered upon his back. "It's right I am at this Mr. Frodo, I'm coming sir, your Sam's coming." he said as he rode off through the moonlight hours of the night to find what his heart so desired.
Aragorn's worst fears were about to be revealed and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he spied the swarthy Orc cradling the body of the little girl in his arms. He signaled to Faramir and three of his guards to circle around and watched as the riders cut a long path around the stumbling figure in the distance. Aragorn gave Rumeil a quick squeeze to reassure the frightened lad "at ease Rumeil, we shall soon have Rosetta safe" he whispered as he slowed Brego to a cantor. The Orc, suddenly aware of the presence of the riders froze in his tracks and awaited their confrontation. Aragorn watched as Faramir motioned for his men to surround the muscled Orc and with swords drawn they walked their horses ever closer to the dark skinned creature they'd learned to hate.
Durzak's breathing was halting and ragged in his exhaustion, he froze in his tracks as he saw the men advancing. Every instinct in his quivering frame told him to find shelter, to seek a weapon, to defend himself and what he carried....but he remembered the words of Qurag "seek the King" he'd been told, and from the proud bearing and deference paid him by his men, he'd guessed the one approaching with the little boy to be the King. He waited, his body tensed for action even as his mind sought to gentle his impulses, he breathed deeply and he waited.
Faramir looked to his men and with swords drawn they walked their horses within five feet of the dark skinned and sneering creature before them. Faramir felt his skin crawl with the image before him: the limp body of the fair haired child nestled so casually in the grip of the long clawed hands and dark sinewy muscles of the Orc. A quick glimpse at his men showed that they were just as repulsed as he by the sharp fang like teeth and scar marked skin of the strong beast before them. Faramir raised a hand and cautioned his men to not strike until signal was given and he made motion to get down from his mount as Aragorn approached and said "remain my friend, I will inquire of this ones purpose". Faramir nodded and said without removing his vigilant gaze from the specter before him "be wary my King for I do not trust his intent." Aragorn nodded grimly and with a word of caution to Rumeil to remain seated he dismounted and handed the horses reins to the son of the Steward.
The Orc's dark and hate filled eyes gave Aragorn pause as he slowly approached, both hands up in an image of supplication and peace, yet he moved forward slowly, speaking gently, his soothing tones a contradiction of the hatred and mistrust in his heart. "Set the child down, we intend no harm, only to aid that whom you have brought us" the King said quietly, his eyes hard and intent upon the subject of his message. The Orc grunted and spun in a circle, seeing the drawn swords about him. His breaths came more rapidly and he whirled about facing first one soldier, then another as his trapped and cornered state began to tell upon his demeanor. Aragorn continued, moving ever so slowly forward, attempting to find words and motions to sooth the savage creature before him " We want only to help, lay her down here" he said gesturing slowly to the ground at his feet as he knelt and without removing his eyes from the dark skinned creature before him patting the ground.
Durzak lifted one corner of his lip in a sneer of contempt and he spun about as the swords pressed ever closer and he growled his displeasure. Aragorn, noting the increased rate of the Orc's breathing and seeing the creature's discomfort held both hands to his breast in a gesture of peace and urged once more "let us help that which you carry, she is in need of aid" he said simply. These last words struck a chord within the frightened and defensive mind of the Orc guarding Rosetta and he slowly grunted his approval as he laid out the frail body in his arms upon the dusty ground at the King's feet.
Durzak laid the fair haired child down with great reluctance, but he knew he must follow the orders of his master, so set her down he did. As Rosetta's fair curls touched the dusty ground and the Orc, with a last touch of compassion and a look of regret lay the child ever so gently down among the heat and scrub of the near barren landscape, Faramir's men sprang into action. Soon, a stunned and subdued Orc lay upon the same ground with a blow to his head weakening his defenses even as binds were brought to contain him. He looked to the finely dressed man before him and spat " you betray trust, not good King" and did not even struggle as his body was knocked to the ground, hands fettered and body beaten to ensure his submission. Aragorn felt a twinge of remorse as he moved quickly to recover the frail lass before him, yet forced himself to focus his thoughts upon providing aid to one who meant the most to those he loved. He hastened away from the grunts and curses of his guards as they took only moments to still the weakening anger of the betrayed Orc.
Aragorn raced to where Rumeil and Terren stood waiting to take the inert form of Rosetta into their arms. He placed the slight body of the petite child in the arms of the healer and with quick assurance that Terran would have all the help needed to ensure the child's safety, Aragorn leapt to his horse in order to pursue the welfare of the ringbearer....he knew he had little time to bring Frodo's still body to safety. Brego's powerful stride brought Aragorn ever closer to the pinnacle of the hill where the limp body of the Ringbearer could be seen hanging in the fading light of the dessert sun. The King felt a lump in his throat as his eyes saw before him the gradually enlarging image of the still Hobbit hanging between the dead trees of the hilltop, he swallowed his fear and urged his horse on with firm certainty and unwaivering strength.
Frodo watched in horror as Qurag was laid flat by the blow of Thad's blunted spear upon his head. He tried to yell out, to warn the Orc of the impending atrocity, but found his mouth covered quickly by the sweat dampened and dirt encrusted hand of Anborn. He felt his body jerked roughly towards the chest of his captor, the abrupt movement of his swollen leg causing him to arch his back and soundlessly scream in response to the agony of the motion. The heat of the setting sun, the discomfort of his fever and his ever present thirst made him queasy and for a brief span of time he felt the world spin and fought to keep a hold upon his sense of balance as dizziness made his senses reel. His blue eyes, widened by fear and accentuated by the rim of dark shadows beneath them, pleaded with the two men standing before him, all that his words could not say was plainly seen in the agony of his gaze 'spare him, do not hurt this one growing so dear to me....'. Thad and Mendal, seeing the pleading in the hobbit's eyes, delighted in kicking and hitting the fallen form of the the Orc at their feet. Anborn held the slight and limp body of the Hobbit in a death like grip, one arm clasped upon his mouth to silence his cries and the other firmly holding him about his waist.
Within seconds all chance of escape or retribution was past as Qurag's unconscious body was bound and tied firmly to a nearby tree. Frodo looked for any sign of life upon the face of his friend and seeing only the gash laid open upon his forehead and blood flowing freely down his face, began to struggle weakly against the hold of the brutal man behind him. Anborn laughed in earnest " 'tis worried for your new 'friend' is it?" he sneered and continued with his head leaning down to whisper in the hobbit's ear "I'd worry more for meself right about now.....for your future looks even darker than yer companion's". The unshaven stubble of the man's beard was pressed painfully against Frodo's fair skin as Anborn removed his hand from the Hobbit's mouth, gripping his chin instead, forced him to look to the steely hatred in the man's eyes. Frodo's eyes were trapped in the penetrating stare of the brutal man, all he could see was death and depravity emanating from the depths of his soulless gaze and he shuddered. Anborn laughed, a deep belly laugh that shook the slender form held so tightly against the man's chest and he pulled the hobbit even closer as his laughter stopped suddenly. "Scare ya do I?" he taunted "where yer goin', my affections will seem as a gentle as yer Mam's snuggle compared ta what ye'll be livin'...that is if ya live" he said, his voice menacingly low. Anborn turned to Thad and Mendal, who had leaned casually against the tree, flanking the still form of the Orc tied between them "tain't that right lads?" he asked as he allowed his hand to travel ever so slowly from his grip upon the Hobbit's waist.
Frodo's breath quickened in response to the Man's caresses and he snapped "I loathe you and all Men of your ilk Anborn, send me where you will, for I shall no longer have to suffer your attentions" he said, his voice raspy and weak sounding in his ears. Anborn and his men just laughed once more and Frodo felt only agony as the man roughly spun him about in his arms, adjusting his limp weight and grasped his curls to pull his head back until they were face to face.
Frodo could feel the hot breath of the man upon his face, feel himself being squeezed as a roughened hand caresses the back of his neck and he watched a grin slowly spread upon the man's leering countenece. "So strong and mighty, so full of good deeds and hope for others" the man nearly spat in contempt "ye'll need all yer hope halfhigh, the Corsairs have a price on yer head....seems they didn't take kindly ta yer King taking their ships...." Anborns voice softened and his eyes appraised the hobbit's form even as Frodo felt himself fondled in a way that made his skin crawl "it seems they've need of a few good lads ta warm their bunks and berths...as fetchin as you are, ye'll be right popular...I wonder how many'll get ta taste yer charms?" Frodo felt his stomach clench and he shivered as he recalled images of the Corsair ships, remembered the vague whispers of unspeakable atrocities visited upon the victims of their plundering greed. His heart ached as his mind held a sudden vision of Sam, Sam finding out where his Mr. Frodo had gone to. The picture of his friends deep fear and sadness played over and over in his mind as the shame he was soon to be delivered to became clear to him, and his last thoughts were of sorrow that he should cause his friends such sorrows, before the pain and fever of his infection overcame him and he sunk into the comfort of his unconsciousness.
The early evening sky bore the promise of stars, a faint breeze from the river cooled the sheen of sweat on the King's skin as he dismounted from Brego and scrambled the last 20 feet to the top of the knoll. He reached the still body, muttering words of comfort as his fingers fought to untie the harsh knots which entrapped the frail wrists. The deepening twilight made his task more difficult as his eyes strained to see the pattern of the ropes. He untied one hand and noted the angry raw rope burns about the wrist as he carefully supported the limp frame of his friend he began to untie the other hand. He quickly looked to see if this hand was also injured from the beastly treatment the hobbit had endured and his eyes opened wide as the facts before him were revealed. Fingers, there were five fingers on this hand...as there were upon the other. With a muttered oath he hastily ripped the cloth covering the head cradled against his chest and he stared in shock at the pale and rough features of a lad, a human lad of no more than 12 summers.
Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut but a moment in his pain and he continued his task as his mind raced. Tricked, he'd been tricked in his desperation and longing to save his friend from the agony of his kidnappers, he'd been tricked. He groaned as he hastily untied the lad's hand and gathered him up in his arms. As the King walked down the hill to his waiting mount he perused the face of the child in his arms. He'd been clearly struck by something, a dried trail of blood ran from his temple down his neck. His breathing was slow and labored, the boy had clearly been drugged. 'Whatever your name, you did not deserve such treatment' he found himself thinking as he placed the limp body up upon the saddle and climbed up carefully behind him. With a heavy heart and renewed sense of purpose he wheeled about and began to move slowly back towards his approaching guards and the confines of the camp.