Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien, the only people I own are Alenor Talagand, Bréil, Sebastian and Victoria.
REVISED/EDITED Fate's Paths-Chap7-Messenger of Dol Guldur-
Bréil, watched uncaringly from a shadowy niche as the would-be murderer crept closer to tortured girl, he made no attempt to save the girl from the cruel edge of the blade. Nonchalantly he held his midnight black cloak easily about his muscular frame. Unless someone looked closely, he was invisible, the black blended seamlessly into the shadows of the niche. Is the idiot so stupid enough to try and kill the girl? He thought, vaguely amused.
The Orc's blade rose.
In split second decision Bréil moved. In a flurry of movement, he flung himself away from the concealing shadows of the cave wall. He moved quickly enough that the Orc wasn't aware of what was happening, until Bréil's hand closed about its scrawny wrist. The blade halted its deadly descent as it touched the unresponsive girl's back.
Whimpering, as its arm was twisted back, the Orc glanced up, and flinched back from the cold, emotionless eyes staring back at him. "What do you think you're doing?" Bréil spat out in the Black Tongue, the harsh and grating words made it useless for him to add a pitch of anger.
Trembling, the Orc surrendered his weapon to Bréi and scrambled back as fast as was possible Mercilessly, Bréil strode after him, the blade now pointed at its owner. "Answer me Snaga!"
Whimpering gibberish the Orc dove for Bréil's feet and kissed the ground before them. "Spare me great lord! I did not know better! Weak, mindless prisoner is dead. She breathes not. Mind, corrupted. Stab her yes, make her bleed more. Feed ground."
Impatient with the mindless talk Bréil pressed the point of the blade between the Orc's eyes, pushing it against the skin enough that a bead of black blood appeared. The Orc went cross-eyed, staring at the blade. He started to make his wordless whimpering again. "Where's your leader?" Bréil hissed through clenched teeth, jabbing the dagger against the Orc's skin for extra measure. "I have a desire to speak with him, and wring his miserable flesh."
Still cross-eyed, the Orc pointed toward a side passage that traveled downward out of the cavern. "That way. Leader that way."
"Tthen get going you miserable worm scum! Fetch him for me! The Great Lord of Dol Guldur has sent me. Do you doubt his word?"
Screeching, hearing the unmerciful name of Dol Guldur, the Orc jerked away, running down the passage he had indicated, without looking back once.
Grinning, into the concealing folds of his cloak, Bréil turned his attention to the unconscious girl. He winced a little as his shoes slipped in a wet pool of blood that was slowly expanding around her. If she continued to lose her life-blood so quickly then there would nothing for his Master to question.
Bréil crouched next to her, and ignored the subtle coating of blood with an executioner's grace. Truly angered, he roughly shook her shoulder. She gave no response. It was as he had feared. Cursing the mindless stupidity of all Orcs, he leaned over to secure her wrist in his capable fingers. A pulse, albeit faint and wavering thrummed against his touch. She lives, he thought. Relief flooded through him. With that piece of miracle, he turned his to the more serious wounds.
Lumbering footsteps echoed warningly behind him, Bréil, felt his shoulders tense. "You are the leader of this band?" The footsteps halted, as if the Orc was surprised that a human could speak the Tongue so well.
"What does it matter to you? 'Famed Servant of Dol Guldur?'"
"Is it so wise to denounce his rule and mock his highest emissary? I warn you, do not mock him, for his rule shall one day span over the entire Middle-Earth."
The Orc laughed, his eyes gleamed with malice. "We serve no one fool. Not even this supposed Master of Dol Guldur"
Bréil slowly stood, blending his movements smoothly so that while he calmly turned it looked threatening and angry. Finding that he towered over the Orc, Breil used it to his advantage. "You are the fool if you do not live under our rule! This girl who lies behind me could pay you a handsome price, if she lives." He watched with disgust as the malice was nearly drowned under a wave of greedy light.
Shuffling a little closer the Orc dared a look behind Bréil and to the girl on the floor. Seeing that the girl was very nearly dead, his lips twisted upward into a sneer and jagged rows of yellowing teeth, dared show themselves. "If ya can save her, human. Ye can have her. She has given us all the pleasure she can hold." The Orc snarled, his eyes hinting at some grotesque happening of the past. "But I want to be rewarded. What will you give me?"
"And a reward you shall have. Does a tithe of land entitled to your clan, with the right of all the hunting you want, sound good enough?" Bréil spoke his words in a slow, measured tone, careful to make sure that the small bit of information would stick in the Orc's relatively small memory. "I think we can arrange for this land to be where the Elves live."
Hooting in glee, for Elves were a rare prize, the Orc stamped his feet, rubbing his dirty mottled hands together. The possible reason of why a half-dead prisoner could be so precious fled his mind. "Failure to comply human and you won't leave here alive," he snapped warningly, before turning and lumbering away. "You are outnumbered here. Remember that" The Orc's retinue diligently followed its leader.
Bréil watched dispassionately, as the Orc left him to his peace. The stupid Orc, it should have known that the Master of Dol Guldur would not carry out his promise; one band of pathetic Orcs was below his attention. As long as he had what he wanted in the end, then there was no use in worrying about something else. It was an easy system to dish out, and one that caused little uproar. Those that tried were swiftly silenced. Besides, the Orcs were often too stupid to cause any uproar it was just the humans that caused the problems.
Pulling his mind back to the "here-and-now" Bréil turned to the girl behind him. The pool of blood had widened, barely perceptible, but wider all the same. Cursing, vehemently he crouched down next to her. The corners of his cloak dragged behind him, lapping up the blood in a hungered frenzy.
Patiently, Bréil, reached out and expertly ran his fingers over her injuries, checking their depth and seriousness. He frowned, as his fingers drifted down her back, seeing the most of the physical damage was there. The more minor of the whip injuries were beginning to scab over. He ignored those turning his attention to her hands.
Lifting her hands to examine them, Bréil spat curses to make a soldier blanch, The fingers of her left hand had been severely damaged by the cruel sting of the whip. It was possible that she would lose them if no attention was brought to them soon. Releasing the wounded digits, he tore a long piece of the hem of his dark shirt. With a careless air, he took back her hand and tightly bandaged the cut blooming across her fingers.
As he did this he became aware of the self-inflicted damage to her wrists. They were torn and bloody with pieces of skin dangling uselessly from the wounds. She had torn them in the effort to escape the manacles. Knowing that his resources were too few to bind all her injuries and knowing that it wouldn't matter if she was crippled, as long as she reached his Master alive, Bréil lifted her up, taking no more time with her serious condition. He flung her none-too-gently over his shoulder. There was no response or groan of pain.
Leaving the central chamber, Bréil descended down into the darkness of the Orcs underground home. He moved with an air of confidence that suggested he belonged there, and that it was unwise to contradict him. He wove his way through the twisting passages, knowing instinctively where he was going. He knew that he couldn't get lost, his sense of direction was to keen for that to happen.
Coming to the girl's cell, Bréil pushed the door open with his foot and glared the cell guard into stuttering silence. "Leave us be," He added as an extra warning.
As he stepped into the rough-hewn chamber the girl moaned. Her voice was hoarse and cracked with overextended use. Surprised, having thought that it would take a while for her wake up, Bréil jumped, and immediately stopped walking. Hardly careful he deposited the girl onto the uneven floor, watching her with cold, emotionless eyes, as she tried to come to awaken. He smiled; it wouldn't be pleasant.
The girl's eyes flickered open, they were disoriented and unfocused. Her gaze traveled blearily over to Bréil. Her eyes were a deep brown color. He noted it with indifference.
As if some part of her mind was thinking coherently, the girl's eyes went large and she struggled to move away from him. She was too weak to even lift her hands above the ground, her body barely moving as she fought with herself for the strength to retreat.
Bréil didn't move as he looked down at her. The coldness of his dark eyes reflected in the frightened pool of her brown ones. He watched silently, as the girl's already low strength, flagged even further. After only a few moments of the only sound being the low and harsh breaths of her struggle, her body gave up on her and her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. She had faded back into unconsciousness.
Making sure that she was fully unconsciousness, Bréil turned on heel and left the cell, nodding briefly at the guard to close the door on his way out. Complying wordlessly the Orc did as he was told. He watched Bréil walk away, his malevolent eyes gleaming. He wondered what was so important about the human girl's survival.
Only Bréil knew that answer: The Master of Dol Guldur has learned of the presence of the last living heir to the throne of Numenor. To have her within their grasp and power, will secure our power over Gondor's throne.