Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
Well before the first tint of pink lit the eastern sky, Jeren was up and away on one of the twins' horses. In the dimness, she could not discern the horse's color, and for all she knew, that was the only way to tell the two mounts apart, they seemed so similar. She supposed that Elrohir and Elladan could identify them while blindfolded, but she could not tell in the dark and it mattered not.
She rode only a short distance when she stopped and waited for the sun to chase away the complete darkness of the very early morning. At this point in the day—still total blackness—the only thing she could be certain of was that she headed south. The quarter moon was almost gone past the horizon, and afforded no light to see by. She could not pick out the trail, and if she were to continue, ran the risk of having to backtrack if the Orcs veered either east or west.
She couldn't wait long; last night's tea that she'd heavily laced with valerian would not keep the men asleep much past dawn, and she could not risk them following her. Precious time would be lost if even one of them tracked her and dragged her back to the campsite, kicking and screaming. She had no illusion that that is exactly what would befall her should one of them catch up with her. Even though hurt, any and all three of them would think to protect her, when she knew good and well that she could protect herself.
And now she hunted Orcs alone. Twelve against one. Those were almost the same odds she faced when she was attacked at the cabin when she was sixteen. She was well past twenty now, and although she was trained to be hard, swift, and fatal, she was still only one person. Her plan was to find the Orcs' location and then report it to the stronghold. She would ride out with those men—as her father had put it—when they rode to rescue Elrohir, whether they would wish it or not.
When she could see well enough in the pre-dawn gray to find the Orcs' trail, she mounted the horse again. Elladan's horse. She'd chosen Elladan's horse, she could now tell. Elladan—and only he—rode this fine bay stallion. Jeren wondered at the horse's acceptance of her on his back, but didn't question it too deeply. She took the advantage as fate. Perhaps the horse needed Elrohir rescued as much as Jeren did. He probably knew as well as she did that it would in all likelihood kill his master should ill fortune befall the other son of Elrond.
She rode for a couple of hours, stopping at points when she grew confused about the trail. At times the Orcs split into more than one group. She knew what to look for, thanks to Glorfindel's lessons. He'd told the novice warriors of exactly this trick. Sometimes Orcs split up to confuse trackers. One must follow the middle trail at all times; the others would join it again—almost always without fail. And thus it had been for her throughout the morning.
When she began to feel prickly—her skin would crawl when she imagined herself drawing too close to Orcs—she stopped and dismounted, and let the horse follow her while she walked. They would be a little less conspicuous that way.
She finally came upon a spot where she could tell the Orcs had spent at least a short while milling about. The ground was well trod, and they'd obviously used it to relieve themselves. She found where the Orcs had left again, and the trail immediately split, this time into two groups; one of five and another with seven.
Which trail to follow? There was no longer a 'middle trail'. She did not allow herself to fret over this new revelation. She checked the tracks more closely. Yes. There was definitely a different set of prints among the group of five Orcs. So vague, yet the ground was trod upon, only not by an Orc. Elrohir was now running with them, they were no longer carrying him. He was purposely twisting his feet to cause these vague prints, since they were almost invisible. She'd had countless hours of practice at tracking Elves. If she did not know what Elf prints looked like, when they left any prints at all, she'd been a poor student, indeed.
She slowed the pace. It wouldn't do to run headlong into their camp, now would it?
It wasn't long until she found what she'd been looking for. The trees had grown thicker, their canopy shading the ground completely. Exactly a place where Orcs would hole up during the day, if they didn't have access to an underground lair. And there they were, with Elrohir staked to the ground, completely naked. He was dirty and bloody, with cuts and bruises over his entire frame. Jeren shuddered to think of the abuse he'd endured. He'd even been burned. The Orcs had taken embers from their fire and held them against the bottoms of his feet. That could have been simply a torture deemed enjoyable to the Orcs, but more probably was a safeguard should Elrohir even think to escape. Jeren's blood ran cold and then hot. She could not abide Orcs treating him this way. Anger flooded her. She took control of it, and assessed the situation.
She covertly crept around the entire perimeter of the camp. There were indeed only five Orcs present. What had become of the other seven? Why had they split and remained split? She rechecked the perimeter, fanning out even farther, in hopes that she hadn't overlooked something—a trap for her, perhaps? But no, there were no other Orcs. She'd just have to wonder what became of the others at another time. For now, she must rescue Elrohir.
Finally confronted with the reality of Elrohir's rescue, she wondered just what she was going to do. At least she didn't have all twleve Orcs to deal with at one time. She was certainly thanking the Valar for that! Common sense was telling her to get back on Elladan's horse and go to the stronghold for help. Yet now that she'd set eyes on him, she found she could not leave him here alone.
She removed the saddle from Elladan's horse. It would be much easier riding double without it. She shoved it into some brush, piling a couple of large rocks to one side of it, marking the place. If Elladan so chose, he could find it again. She knew the loss of a saddle would pale in comparison to the loss of a brother, if they could not get away quickly and cleanly.
Her training took over and her nimble brain formed a tentative plan. She stopped to fill her pockets with rocks of varying sizes. As she climbed into the tree above where Elrohir was staked, she finalized her scheme. When she knew exactly what she had to do, she took a deep breath, took aim, and dropped a pebble that she'd collected off the ground right onto Elrohir's torso—just above his navel. She saw his abdomen flinch as the cold hardness of the stone bounced on his skin, and then to Jeren's dismay, remained there.
He opened his blackened eyes, trying to see what had landed on him. He then looked above himself, and she could tell exactly when he focused on her, perched in the tree directly above him. She had her finger to her lips, an unnecessary gesture to ensure his silence. His eyes closed again. Was that a smile, she wondered to herself? If it was, it was only a small imitation of one. She hoped he would be able to move once she cut him free. She prayed as she'd rarely prayed before that her plan to eliminate these Orcs would work. If she missed any one of them, they were so close to Elrohir, they could easily slit his throat before she could get another arrow notched. Valar, please let the other seven Orcs stay gone.
There were two Orcs, well away at opposite sides of the camp, that were supposed to be on guard; one was sleeping like his comrades, but the other was awake and appeared to be alert. She pierced his heart first with one of her arrows. Luckily, he died a quiet death, without making much of a sound. She paused to make sure the remaining Orcs had not detected any disturbance, then notched another arrow and let it go at the sleeping guard. He never knew what hit him—and the squeak that he made was so low, even she had trouble making it out. She held her breath again, waiting for any sign that her actions had caused the last three to wake. After several seconds she knew that they too would remain asleep.
Then she threw the largest stone she had as far as she could hurl it away from the camp. She'd aimed at a large branch of a tree, and the meeting of stone against wood made a resounding crack. Her luck was holding— all the Orcs woke up at the noise, looking around themselves stupidly. She quickly threw another stone in the same direction, hoping they would not catch her motion above them as she did so. They got up and armed themselves, but did not look her way. The ugliest one glanced back at Elrohir, but Elrohir kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Jeren hoped the brute would not notice the stone that still lay upon Elrohir's gut. Orcs were stupid as a rule, but every once in awhile, there would be one who seemed to use his head for other than a place to hold his ears, and Jeren prayed that this was not one of them.
Her luck held—satisfied that the Elf was still secure, the Orc glanced back toward where the rock had gone through the trees. Jeren could not chance any movement now. The Orcs had to shift away from Elrohir before she attempted to kill them. The Orcs finally noticed their two fallen comrades. They began grumbling in their guttural speech, animatedly pointing toward where Jeren had thrown the rock. They took her bait and began stealthily, for them anyway, walking toward the far edge of the clearing. With their backs now to her, Jeren silently notched an arrow and held her breath. This would have to be the fastest, cleanest shooting she'd ever done.
She let the arrow go, and had another notched and gone before the first Orc had entirely hit the ground. The second arrow hit the second Orc square in the heart as he turned to see what had befallen his comrade. The third arrow Jeren actually had time to make a choice as to where to aim—and she chose right between the third Orc's hideous eyes.
It was all over within moments. Jeren could hardly believe it had been so easy. This made her cautious. Nothing is ever this easy, she repeated to herself as she made her way down the tree to Elrohir. Keeping wary eyes darting around the campsite, and strained ears trained for any sound of the other Orcs' return, Jeren knelt beside Elrohir, took her knife out of her boot and commenced cutting his bonds. He sat up as soon as he was able, without a sound or groan. They were both on their feet instantly and running back the way Jeren had come.
Elladan's horse met them before they'd gone far. Elrohir embraced the animal, holding on to its neck for several seconds. Jeren had tied her water skin and blanket to the saddlebags, then placed them over the horse's withers. Elrohir untied the blanket and draped it around his waist. Jeren hopped onto the stallion's back and held her hand out to help him climb up behind. He did so with quiet fluidity. If he was hurt—and Jeren knew that he was—he certainly wasn't showing it, and Jeren had to wonder at his stamina. He'd run on badly burned feet without flinching and now he held on and rode behind her at a fast gallop without any sign of pain or injury. She supposed there'd be time later for him to drop into a faint, she was only glad that as of now, he was conscious and moving on his own.
They rode at the horse's top speed for over an hour, when Elrohir poked Jeren in the side to get her to slow the pace. As soon as the horse was walking, Elrohir said, "I don't know whether to kiss you for being the bravest warrior I've ever seen, or smack you soundly for being stupid enough to come alone."
"You're welcome, Elrohir," Jeren replied with a small grin.
"I certainly wish I could have snatched up my clothes before we ran out of that campsite, but I truly know not what became of them."
"I would offer you my spares, but I'm afraid they might be just the slightest bit too small." He poked her again in the ribs at this weak jest and she flinched, happy to be lighthearted at last.
"So, how fares Elladan?" he asked almost too casually. Jeren knew the twins could mind speak, so she also knew that if something were wrong with Elladan, Elrohir would know it. So why was he asking her this?
"I ask because I'm having some trouble sensing him this morning. I know he lived last night—," he said.
Jeren frowned. He could not read her mind, now could he? But she let the thought go.
"Elladan had his eyes blackened and his nose broken, as well as a poke in the shoulder with an Orc blade. He was sleeping when I left." Jeren smiled. What she did not tell Elrohir was that when she'd dosed Elladan with the healing tea he'd instructed her to make for him and Anardil, she'd steeped valerian with it. She'd had enough bruises and strains throughout her training that Lord Elrond allowed her to keep some in her saddlebags for the survival drills, for the pain. She didn't much like using it because it always made her drowsy. She'd used up her supply last night, trying to keep all the men—especially Elladan—asleep through her departure. And it had worked.
"But how are we riding this beast?" Elrohir wanted to know. "No one but Elladan rides this stallion. Not even me, usually."
"I suppose the horse is smarter than either of the two of you," she said. "He knows the need, so he isn't making a fuss. Next time you may not be this lucky."
"There had better be no next time," was Elrohir's quick reply. "Let's stop now. I need a little rest. I had a hard night, you know."
Since Elrohir was his usual glib self, Jeren breathed a huge sigh of relief. The Orcs, for whatever reason, may have beat on Elrohir, burned him and blackened his eyes, but they'd not done anything from which he could not recover. She thanked the Valar one more time.
He slid from the horse to the ground, then hitched up the blanket around his waist and sat under the nearest tree. "Have you anything to eat, Jeren?" he asked. "I'm a little hungry. And some water would not be amiss, either."
Jeren couldn't believe he was acting so casually. Here he sat, seemingly at his ease, covered in filth and blood and bruises, as if he'd not been through one of the most loathsome and terrifying experiences of his life. She took the saddlebag with her to the tree, along with her waterskin, and sat beside Elrohir. She offered him some smoked, dried meat and the water. After he took a long drink, he began to tear at the meat with relish. She took a portion for herself and began to eat.
"Elrohir, you act as if you've not just spent the last ten hours with Orcs. What is the matter with you?"
"How should I be acting? Am I supposed to cower and tremble? I did not relish the party they had in my honor last night, but it is over and done."
She raised her brows. It certainly would have terrified her, but then she was no Elf. "Speaking of a party, where did the other half of the Orc party get to? I know there were twelve Orcs that left after the battle."
"Oh yes, the battle," Elrohir said thoughtfully. "How did that turn out, Jeren, as if I do not know?" His tone softened. "What became of Anardil? Was everyone killed, but Elladan? He's the only one I can ever sense, so…"
"My father, as well as another ranger—Rhyse is his name—survived the battle. Not quite unscathed, but with some time, both should be fine. No one else was left alive. Now you answer my question."
He looked at her quizzically for a moment. "Ah, yes, the Orcs and why they split up." He took another bite of meat and chewed for a few moments. "I know a little of the black speech, and from what I could gather, I was somewhat of a bartering chip for them. They wanted something from a high-ranking Orc in another band, and they thought to trade me for whatever it was. They wanted to keep me well away from this Orc they thought to bargain with, so they left part of the group behind to guard me while the others went to do the trade. That's why I'm not as bad off as you might have thought I'd be—they wanted me very much alive and mostly well, to fetch a higher bargaining price."
"All I can say to that," Jeren told him, "is 'thank the Valar'! I knew not what I was going to do if I had to consider getting around all twelve Orcs to get to you. The smart thing would have been to return to the stronghold—get others to help me free you. But once I was confronted with the sight of you in the clutches of the Orcs, I do not believe I could have left you, even were they all there to contend with. Anyway, the five were trial enough."
Elrohir breathed a big sigh and said, his voice suddenly tired, "Yes. The five were plenty trial enough."
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