Snaga dripped sweat from his forehead into the wash basin that he leaned over. He had been scrubbing laundry over a washboard for hours. It was grueling work; the water was almost searing hot, not hot enough to burn the skin but plenty warm enough to be extremely uncomfortable. Over the past few days that Snaga had been put to use, he learned that elves clean everything. Elves clean anything and everything from clothes, bed linens, dishes, even the floor. It could be hard and unpleasant work at times, but anything was better than being locked in his prison cell all day, so he obeyed every order and did his best to please his elf master.
The bruises were still fresh on Snaga's neck when Elaenar had entered his prison cell unexpectedly a few days before and said:
"Come here, Snaga. stand up straight. I'm taking your measurements."
"Why?" Snaga had asked, skeptical.
"Because we're putting you to work, that's why. You need clothes, and I'm going to outfit you; now get up. Snap to it."
Snaga wordlessly stood before the elf as he took a long tape and wrapped it around his neck, then his waist, and then ran it along the height of his frame, muttering something about five foot two (a metric that had no meaning for Snaga). Elaenar even measured the size of his feet, tracing an outline on a piece of paper, and when he got up, he tsk tsked and remarked something along the lines of:
"Everything about you is small, isn't it?"
When Elaenar returned, he gave the prisoner an undershirt to wear, a tunic, leggings, and bandage boots that wrapped around his calves and went up to his knees. Snaga complained that he didn't have a cowl (he had been forced to burn it along with the rest of his clothes) and Elaenar had tried to resist his demands ("why do you think you need a cowl to wear?!") but Snaga put up such a fuss about it that the elf finally caved and gave him a head scarf. Snaga grumbled that it wasn't the same thing as a cowl, but he had to put up with it because Elaenar certainly wasn't going to cater to him any more beyond this one little favor.
His elf master had made the ground rules abundantly clear to Snaga: no destruction of property, no disobedience, no mischief, and don't you dare try to escape or run away. In his own words: "You're a prisoner of war. And don't you forget it." It wasn't at all lost on Snaga that what chores he was allowed to do was strictly regulated (nothing with knives). He wasn't allowed to touch anything that could conceivably be used as a weapon. The one time that Snaga had been ordered to peel potatoes he had been closely supervised. Snaga had the sense that he was being relegated to the most demeaning work possible (which was nothing new to Snaga). It seemed that he was being given all of the most grimy, unpleasant, and stultifying chores.
In addition to ordering him about all day, Elaenar was constantly scolding him and nagging him about his every behavior and mannerism. "Sit up straight, stop slouching. Don't be such a hunchback! Chew with your mouth closed, that's not civil. Stop wiping your nose on your sleeve, that's disgusting!"
The only time that Elaenar ever engaged with him conversationally was to make snide inquiries about his detested race. Elaenar made no secret about his contempt for orcs; to the contrary, he made it a point to openly flaunt his despisal for Snaga's ilk.
Snaga burned with resentment inside, he hated that blasted elf, but outwardly he bore all of the criticizing and nagging quietly and submissively, because he desperately did not want to be thrown back into his prison cell again.
In the beginning, Elaenar was constantly hovering over him, keeping very close eye on the orc prisoner; Snaga wasn't allowed to so much as lift a finger without being monitored. He knew that the elves' distrust for him ran deep; it was a miracle that he was let out of his prison cell at all. It was a privilege that he could lose at any time with one small mistake. It probably came as a surprise to Elaenar that Snaga didn't try anything; he gave his elf master absolutely no trouble. Snaga wasn't trying to be "good"; he was just trying to survive the same way that he always had: by submission and obedience. Slowly, the elf had started to relax his overbearing control over the orc prisoner; Snaga was allowed to be alone and unwatched for short periods of time (although Elaenar was never too far away). Still, Elaenar was often overseeing Snaga in whatever he did, and sometimes they even worked together.
When he was finished washing bedsheets for the entire dormitory, Elaenar beckoned him to come into a different room and had him sit down at a table. Snaga's toes just barely touched the floor, his heels swung in the air; yet another reminder of how much shorter and smaller he was than the elves.
"Do you know how to link chainmail?"
Snaga nodded solemnly but said nothing.
"Good," Elaenar said flatly. He dumped an entire bucket of small steel rings onto the table that Snaga was sitting at.
"Get to it," He ordered, while grabbing a chair and sitting down next to him. The elf grabbed a handful of rings himself and started to link them.
Snaga paused for a moment before reaching for them. He could tell this was no ordinary chainmail; this was special elvish steel. The rings were shiny and silver. Elvish steel was impossibly light and durable and (according to Grishnak) could cut through stone when sharpened. Elaenar caught the glint in Snaga's eye and gave him a stern look as if to chide him for being greedy.
"And don't try to pocket any rings for yourself;" he said. "You can guarantee that I'll be patting you down after this. Why do orcs like elvish trinkets so much anyway, given that they hate elves?
"I don't steal." Snaga said flatly.
"Oh really? Never at all?" Elaenar asked skeptically.
"No." he answered flatly.
"Why's that? Are you above stealing?"
"Thieves get their ears cut off." He answered tersely.
"Oh, I see." The elf sneered. "So that's how order is kept among orcs, is it?
Snaga didn't deign to answer. He glowered and stewed in silent resentment as he linked rings together. He wanted to punch the elf; it wasn't fair that he had to sit there complacently while Elaenar taunted him.
"Shouldn't the punishment for stealing be getting one's hands cut off?" Elaenar remarked.
"You can't work without hands." Snaga replied.
Elaenar snorted with contempt. "How practical. Orcs are cruel, aren't they?"
"You can be cruel, when you want to be." Snaga dared to tepidly observe.
"At least I wouldn't cut your ears off." He bristled.
"Or hang me upside down? And skin me alive?"
Elaenar got up and slammed the table; he grabbed Snaga by the nape of his neck, forcing his head to almost touch the table.
"I did what I had to do to save the lives of my two friends!" He shouted at Snaga, enraged. "Mutilating one dead orc was a small price to pay for Aeründal and Faenar's lives!"
"Forgive me, master. I didn't mean to offend you." He whimpered softly, shaking. Elaenar let go of his hair gruffly, with a slight shove for added emphasis.
"Just finish your work," he growled, and stormed off. Snaga was left there trembling in his chair, wary to ever provoke Elaenar like that ever again.
Snaga was still shaken by Elaenar's earlier outburst that day as he walked across the main courtyard to empty his mess bucket into the sewer. Snaga concealed no small amount of resentment over the fact that he sensed that Elaenar relished in making him do the nastiest of chores. As he stood in the courtyard, he was shocked to observe that the gate was raised and open; people were entering and exiting the fortress at their liberty. He realized with awe that nothing was stopping him from exiting through the fortress's gatehouse; without giving it almost any thought; he struck up the nerve to try and escape.
Snaga trembled as he brazenly made his way toward the fortress gate; his heart nearly dropped into his stomach when Captain Barothir abruptly stepped into his path.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked menacingly.
Snaga gulped. There was only one thing to do: lie his way out of this situation. Unfortunately for Snaga, he was a terrible liar.
"Orders. Elaenar told me to empty the waste outside of the walls."
Captain Barothir glared at him wordlessly for a moment before stepping aside and letting him be one his way. Snaga could scarcely believe his luck. As he trudged under the gatehouse, he was in awe as the woods came into his line of vision, dense and dark and ready to conceal him. His heart was racing with nervous energy; he walked a few more paces before dropping the bucket and dashing into the woods as fast as he could run.
He fled into the woods; he knew he had to keep running for as long as he could because elves would have an easy time tracking him down. He was determined to run and not to stop until his heart literally gave out from exhaustion. He scrambled trough the underbrush and tripped over tree roots, he waded through muck and picked himself out of the mud. His face was whipped by branches as he barreled through the forest, but he didn't let the pain stop him for even a moment.
He didn't even hear the elf coming up behind him when he was tackled to the ground. He shrieked in terror as he hit the earth with a "thud". He felt a heavy weight on top of him.
"Hunting you down…" Elaenar growled "was the easiest chase I ever gave. I've tracked wounded, bleeding deer that were harder to find than you. If you ever try to run away again, I will see to it that you get locked up on the most maximum-security prison cell where you'll never see the light of day ever again!"
"Let me go!" Snaga sobbed and put up a futile struggled against the elf's heavy form that was kneeling on his legs and pushing down with one hand on his back.
Snaga wailed and cursed him (in his own tongue) as Elaenar got off of him and, in one swift motion (as if to demonstrate how easy it was for Elaenar to physically over-power Snaga) he pulled the orc off the ground and threw his small body over his shoulder to carry him back to the stronghold. Snaga kicked and shrieked; he grabbed the elf's long hair and yanked it with all of his strength.
Elaenar cried out as his hair was pulled viciously. In response, he threw Snaga down to the forest floor; completely knocking the wind out of him. Snaga lay there in shock, unable to breathe for just long enough for the elf to kneel on top of him and grab his wrists.
"I've gone through so much trouble over you, you little ingrate!" He snarled while binding Snaga's wrist together with his belt.
"I've done so much to keep you alive and even went to so far as to spare you from the misery of your prison cell, you back-stabbing, disloyal little imp!"
"Get the fuck off of me!" He wailed while struggling against the elf. "I hate you!" He cried, in a tone that was more pitiful than menacing.
"You're going to hate me a lot more when I'm through with you!" Elaenar replied as he picked up Snaga up off the ground for the second time and hoisted him over his shoulder. Being manhandled so easily and effortlessly made Snaga feel weak and powerless against Elaenar's strength. It was humiliating. He whined and protested and said all sorts of nasty things in his own language; the elf threatened to rough him up if he didn't shut up.
When they were in the clear, Elaenar set Snaga down on his feet and untied his bound wrists.
"Now listen, we're going to go back inside and pretend like nothing happened. Don't you dare cause a scene; if anyone finds out that you ran away, we'll both be in trouble." He warned Snaga while grabbing his shoulder firmly and leading him onward. But unfortunately for both of them, Snaga's attempted escape was not going to remain a secret.
Snaga's stomach dropped: Captain Thrandar was standing in the courtyard with the look of an officer who was ready to bring down his judgement on his subordinates.
Elaenar spoke to his captain in elvish; and although Snaga couldn't understand the words coming out of the elf's mouth, it was quite plain to him that Elaenar was frantically entreating with his commander.
The captain replied with one singular command that had the effect of making Elaenar shut up immediately; Snaga could only guess that he had been ordered to be silent.
"Bring him here." Thrandar ordered in the common tongue; and Snaga looked up at Elaenar with pleading eyes. Elaenar stalled for only a moment, looking anxiously down at Snaga, but he didn't dare disobey his captain.
Captain Thrandar had them follow him behind the woodshed and the stables. To his horror, Captain Thrandar dislodged an axe that was stuck into the chopping block and cast it aside. He pointed to the now empty block and commanded Snaga:
"Kneel."
Snaga's heart stopped. Elaenar (in elvish) frantically entreated with his captain, but the commander harshly dismissed him with stern commands. Elaenar tried to hold Snaga tight, but the captain snatched the orc by his wrist even as Elaenar continued to argue with his officer, and Snaga let out one terrified squeal as he was dragged forward and thrown the ground, on his knees, in front of the chopping block.
Elaenar, it appeared, would have lunged after the orc but the commander said something that caused him to stop in his tracks and look upon them both anxiously.
"Elaenar, please!" Snaga begged, but the elf silently shook his head no and Captain Thrandar shouted at him:
"Silence! Lean over the block."
Snaga had seen enough beheadings in his lifetime to know that the worst thing that he could do would be to struggle and squirm. Sniveling and hyperventilating, he did as he was told and placed his neck upon it, with both hands on either side and braced himself to be executed.
Captain Thrandar withdrew his sword and held it in front of Snaga's vision, pointed to the ground. Then he spoke to him:
"My decision to give you a reprieve from your holding cell was a privilege granted upon you; a privilege that is contingent on your absolute obedience. The next time that you take advantage of our compassion on you and try to run away, it will be treated as a capital offense. Do I make myself clear?"
Snaga lifted his head off of the block and looked up at the captain with a bewildered stare. He could hardly comprehend that he (perhaps) wasn't going to be executed; he was speechless.
"Snaga, answer him!" Elaenar said through gritted teeth.
Snaga had never heard the term "capital offense" before, but he didn't need it to be explained to him; he could guess well enough what that meant, so he replied sincerely:
"Yes, sir."
Captain Thrandar put his sword back into its sheath.
"Get up." He ordered flatly.
Snaga was shaking horribly, he was very unsteady as he got on his feet. The elvish commander grabbed him by his shoulder and led him to Elaenar.
"Apologize to Elaenar for your disobedience." He said sternly.
"Forgive me, master." Snaga said quietly; his voice was shaking.
Elaenar gulped and said softly:
"Come here, Snaga."
This time when Elaenar laid his hands on Snaga, he was much gentler. Snaga didn't even register the comforting pat on his back because his heart was still racing with terror from the mock execution.
Snaga sat on his bed trembling and wiping the tears from his eyes, he was quite shaken up to have been almost beheaded. That stunt that Captain Thrandar had pulled on him had been very effective; the message was made very clear to Snaga that there would be deadly consequences for his disobedience. He had a renewed respect and fear for the authority that the elves had over him. The ordeal had been a grotesque blend of mercy and ruthlessness; Snaga was feeling quite sorry for himself as he waited for his accelerated heartrate to calm down.
Snaga was very much not expecting to be fed that evening (as punishment for running away) so it was a great surprise to him when Elaenar entered to bring him dinner. He hugged his knees into himself and didn't look at the elf; save for an icy, side-eyed glare. The elf quietly set his food down on a small stool (the only other piece of furniture in his bleak cell). Snaga wished that Elaenar would go away, but out of his peripherals he could detect that Elaenar leaned with his back against the opposite wall, staring at him.
He heard the elf sigh before saying:
"You know, you really shouldn't try to run away; you're much better off here."
Snaga's blood boiled; he wanted to lash out and scream obscenities at the elf, but he bit his tongue.
"Where exactly do you think you would go? Look at you, you wouldn't last two days alone in the wilderness. You'd starve to death or get eaten alive by wolves. Is that what you want?"
Snaga returned his counsel with icy silence.
"You know you can't run away and try to live among orcs again. They would see your elvish clothes and take you for a traitor. Besides, what about that tattoo on your arm, don't you suppose they would identify you by your number? You'd be tortured to death. You may not like it, but you're better off staying here with us."
"Until you decide to hang me upside down, and skin me alive." He retorted, bitterly.
Elaenar snorted.
"Only orcs do that, Snaga." He said disdainfully. With that, he turned and left.
