Warning - Violence and sexual reference contained in this chapter.
Chapter 6
Reluctantly pulling himself out of reverie the blonde wood elf sighed and mentally thanked the tree in which he had rested, for keeping him safe within its embrace during the deepest hours of the night. For so long now he had wandered far and wide in the perpetual gloom of the great forests thickest areas, hunting out and dispatching the orcs, spiders and other foul creatures that had had the temerity to invade his home and he was weary to the bone. He had lost count of the waxing and waning of the moon, the seasons changing, all he knew now was the next chase, the next fight, the next kill.
Clad simply in earth brown, torn breeches, his only remaining, serviceable clothing, his long fair hair matted and unkempt, his torso darkened with dried blood, mud and ichor, he sat, mulling over the latest attempt he had made to fill the emptiness within his heart and fea. The spiders had been most annoying in their lack of originality and cunning, falling to his blades with an abandonment almost orchestrated in its ease. Orcs were far more satisfying to hunt, at least they made an attempt to outwit him, even if they were too stupid to realise they never could. It made the game much more interesting.
His thoughts wavered slightly. A game. Was that all this was? He clenched his fists until he felt his fingernails dig painfully into his palms. No. This was not a game. This was, retribution, redemption. A necessary occupation in this time of creeping darkness, not something to be enjoyed or lauded for sport. He forced his hands to unclench and relax, unheeding of the half moons of blood welling from each abused palm and leaned his head back onto the roughened bark behind him, drawing on its offered strength. The greenwood would not fall further to shadow, not if he could help it.
Unconsciously scratching at one of the myriad of small, healing scars covering his body he contemplated his next move. Should he skirt back around the east side once more to check on the spider nests he had decimated a few days previously to ensure they remained abandoned or should he turn west and check the safety and wellbeing of the small hamlet at the edge of the forest where a few families of farmers eaked out a living. He tensed as a rustling noise caught his ears attention then slowed his breathing and stilled his body as the sound grew louder, he recognised the cause and had no wish to be discovered by its perpetrators until he was ready. Mentally begging the tree for its assistance to keep him hidden he watched intently as the small band of orcs passed below, counting and mentally assessing each one as they trampled through the area leaving a trail an elfling could follow. His lips turned up in a mirthless grin, anticipation building within him. This was more like it.
Decision made he began to make his way through the trees, a silent shadow of which the creatures were, so far, blissfully ignorant. Stalking the orcs as a hunter does prey the elf felt his heartbeat quicken with almost every step. His whole body began to thrum with excitement as he planned out in his mind the manner of each of their deaths. His hands reached back to caress the smooth hilts of his knives where they rested nestled in their sheaths against the quiver on his back. Close combat would serve his rising bloodlust better than the disconnected rush of an arrow.
The first four fell in quick succession to a single swipe of his silver blade across their throats as they meandered in single file at the back of the pack. There was no noise, not even a gurgle to note their passing and the others continued blithely on their way.
The fifth was briefly surprised to find himself staring into a pair of upside down, deep blue eyes as he moved under a low hanging branch. A pair of slender hands reached out, almost as if materialising from the tree itself but before he had time to register their owners intent, his head was taken in a deceptively strong grip and twisted, breaking the link between sluggish brain and body irrevocably.
Numbers six, seven and eight met their ends almost simultaneously as they all stood companiably relieving themselves around a large, elderly oak tree, which radiated disgust at the burning, liquid onslaught yet was somewhat appeased by the wood elf's retribution.
Nine and ten skewered each other after the elf dropped down from a tree between them brandishing his knives, then lithely sprang back up onto an obliging branch as they simultaneously thrust their long scimitars towards his guts. He nearly laughed aloud at the sunned expressions that twisted their faces in the scant seconds before they crumpled, lifeless, to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He felt alive.
Returning to the trees once more he decided that the odds had been shortened enough. He could feel the heated blood rushing through his body and needed the thrill of battle to quench its racing burn before he would be able to sink into the peaceful embrace of oblivion and escape his tortured thoughts.
Rough, guttural voices led him on until he was above the, now diminished, band of orcs once more. There appeared to be an argument taking place between two of the largest creatures with the others ranged around them in a rough circle watching with mounting excitement at the prospect of a fight. The air crackled with tension and the elf found his own heart beginning to race with anticipation as the pair became more irate and vocal then began to pace around each other, red eyes glinting as they spat out curses in the black speech, posturing and gesturing all the while.
With a speed belied by their bulk the two suddenly clashed together, claws raking over toughened hide deep enough to draw lines of black blood before springing apart once more, invectives flowing from their mouths, to circle each other again tauntingly. Four or five times this happened as if each was testing the other, looking for some sign of weakness to exploit and each time fresh gouges appeared on both forms. Surprisingly to the elf watching transfixed above, their onlookers remained quiet through each spat although some were visibly licking their lips as if they could taste the blood. The tension grew to almost unbearable proportions and he found himself leaning down from his perch, excitement gnawing his innards, blue eyes darkened with a feral gleam.
Just when he felt he would scream with frustration a roar suddenly went up from the crowd and the fight truly began. Neither creature bore a weapon apart from the long, sharp claws and teeth nature had given them but these they wielded as clinically as any scimitar or blade. Their fists and feet were as effective for bludgeoning as huge, heavy clubs and the whole of their bodies were used as battering rams. The watchers were making up for their past silence now and the level of noise increased as each extorted the pair to greater and greater violence. The ground grew slick with the black fluid that now flowed freely from both combatants myriad of wounds but they paid it no heed. The iron rich tang of blood lay thick upon the air and the elf inhaled deeply relishing the scent, amazed, as always that it should smell the same whatever the colour of the blood being spilt.
A sudden bellow of pain accompanied the first sign of ones ascendance over the other as a thick, gnarled finger was spat into the crowd, grabbed reflexively by a smaller orc then thrust into its waiting maw to be gobbled down like a sweet treat. Clutching its wounded hand to its over muscular chest the orc attempted retribution, missed its footing and slipped in the dark mud beneath its feet, toppling over, unable to save itself but lashing out with its whole hand to rake the other down the torso as it fell. It had barely made contact with the ground before the other was on top of it, biting and hacking with uncontained fury.
If there had been any to see the elf at this point they would hardly have recognised him as the fair, composed and elegant creature they knew. His eyes were darkened almost to black and shining wide with lust and need, his breath was ragged and a silvery sheen of sweat covered his bared torso, once sleek, fair hair clung damply to his scalp and shoulders. A pink tongue peeked out from between, and occasionally licked, lips reddened with blood from where he had bitten them to keep from vocalising his own pleas and imprecations. He had never seen anything so base, so primal and yet so absolutely thrilling before. In all the years he had fought the creatures he had never been witness to them fighting in this manner and he could not draw his gaze away from the mesmerising sight.
A roar of conquest and the loud cheer that drowned out the elfs own gutteral cry, indicated the end of the fight and as the winner stood, posturing over his defeated opponent, their hidden watcher gradually returned to his sense of self. Disgust and self loathing filled him as he leaned limply back onto the trees great trunk, shaking and spent, the stain of his own seed now added to those others already marring his once pristine breeches. He had never been so deep within bloodlust as to be physically affected this way before although he had heard of it happening to others. The Imladrin twins had themselves talked about such a phenomena overtaking them on occasion as they rode forth in the bloody years of retribution after their mothers abuse and departure but only in terms of their need for release after being embroiled in battle and never whilst simply watching others in deadly combat.
The thought of the dark haired pair brought their human brother to mind and a sharp pain ripped through his chest. If they had not thought him beneath contempt already the Valar knew how they would look upon him if they could see him thus. Shame painted his face scarlet. They were right to have cast him off, to have ridden away from the darkness within him those twenty years or more ago and never looked back.
Never had he thought to make a human his friend but there was something about this young man that spoke of greater things. Even before the twins had told him, in strictest confidence, of Estels true heritage he had seen the nobility etched within his features but it was his compassionate, giving, pure heart that had won the princes undying regard and brotherly affection and even now, for which he would gladly forfeit his life to ensure Estel endured.
He remembered the smiles and promises made before they left, how the days had seemed so long without their company. He frowned. When had he started to view time as a mortal would? Was it now his fate to ever rail against the passage of days, months and years where in the past time had simply flowed along, unremarked, season following season without end. It seemed so bitter now. This immortality. To linger on unwanted whilst other, more deserving beings grew old and withered into dust. The gifts given by the valar were indeed sometimes hard to take.
Gazing down upon the creatures, now sating their desires by consuming the bloody flesh of their fallen companion or sharing in that of their comrades in arms his bile rose. Anger replaced shame and grew as he remembered past torments and their masters plans for his use. Lhossons face was suddenly before him, staring with accusing eyes, revulsion writ loud upon its every contour. 'You did this to me', it seemed to say 'they used me and you let them, you are no better they, no, you are worse, for you are no mindless creature of the dark. You watched and took enjoyment from their depravity. You chose this path when you took my life. Kinslayer.'
"Noooooo!"
The bloodcurdling wail cut through the air like a knife as the elf leapt and dropped into the heaving mass below in a whirl of silver hair and blades. Like a demon possessed he ripped into the throng, slashing and hacking indiscriminately in moves faster than the eye could see. Caught completely unawares and busy with their enjoyments the orcs were totally unprepared for his blistering attack and the first few fell without even realising he was upon them. Those that eventually managed to gain sense enough to arm themselves however fared no better and soon the elf stood alone, breathing deeply, mired in a sea of black blood and gore, his fury ebbing away like the fluids soaking into the ground beneath his feet.
He was not like them, he was nothing like them.
Sheathing his knives, for once unheeding of the dripping blades, he turned his back upon the carnage wreaked and slowly walked away, the words running round his head in an unending loop. Exhausted beyond belief his body and mind craved rest but still he moved, stumbling over the ground in a manner completely inverse to his usual sure footed style until his foot caught in a trailing vine and the earth rose up to meet him bringing the welcome darkness of oblivion with it.
A/N Thought I'd better put a warning up before this as I don't want to upset or squick anyone too much!
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