Chapter 12
Captured
Estel gulped, realizing that he was finally facing his second battle.
It was not so much the experience that frightened him, but he was unprepared and the only weapon he had at ready was Elladan's dagger that he always concealed in an ankle sheath. He took it out now, hoping that it would have more use than his bare hands in battle.
Like ants storming from their hill, the Orcs surged from the darkness, plaguing the forest with their unwholesome selves. Roaring and screaming with the glee of potential kills, they threw themselves upon the ill-equipped travelers, hoping for the taste of human and elf blood.
It seemed as if they took an air of evil with them, for as soon as they appeared, the sun disappeared from the sky, leaving all in darkness. With no sunlight, the forest seemed as if the culmination of a bloody nightmare.
The horses screamed in protest, and the boy turned, hoping to stop his, but she was too quick for him. In a stab of fear, she bolted, turning tail on the battle and disappearing into the blackness.
Estel unsheathed the dagger, revealing a thin, silver light between the black eaves, his heart pounding near his throat. The blood rushing behind his ears made him nearly deaf, and a cold hand was drawing a string around his stomach. Already, he was surrounded.
Except for the light from his weapon, he could only see the wolfish yellow eyes of his enemies. As he waved the elvish dagger around him like a novice, the Orcs drew back, snarling, as the harsh gleam invaded the sensitivity of their nocturnal eyes.
Realizing his advantage, Estel crept forward, hoping to near his brothers so that that they could mutually protect each other. Already, the cries of death and war were around him as the elves pulled weapons from their bewildered horses.
Knowing their prey was about to escape, a bold Orc leaped forward, a wicked scimitar in hand, ready to gut him. Squinting in the darkness and using his knife for a weapon as well as a lamp, Estel arched the dagger up just in time to avoid a serious head wound. However, the elven weapon proved worthy to its name, as sparks flashed where metal hit metal, and the Orc screeched in terror as he felt the heat of the two flash across his arm.
The scimitar went flying, but did not discourage the creature to attack the boy with his bare hands.
Nearly blind because his stubborn eyes refused to adjust to the lack of light, Estel screamed as he felt a hot, lancing pain across his left upper arm. Something near him roared in triumph and he felt a rising anger drowning out his fear.
Cursing, he stabbed out like an amateur with his dagger, ducking and rolling on the ground as an Orc squeaked in pain and fell. However, it seemed that five Orcs would take the place of every one that he defeated, and as he spun in a dizzy circle, more and more of the foul creatures surrounded him.
Suddenly, a foul stench entered his nostrils, and he realized that a huge Orc was standing directly behind him. A cloudy gray smoke issued from his right hand, and Estel's mind began to float.
As the smoke entered his lungs, he felt his body leave him and his senses did not seem to obey his will. He found himself falling to the ground, but before he completely lost his sight, he realized what the Orc had set upon him.
With one last effort, his mind screamed, Sleep powder!
Cuiladan whirled from his fighting stance onto the nearest Orc and sank his sword into its neck. To his surprise, not only did the creature not fight back, but the thick circle that had surrounded him before began to dissipate.
Just like the morning fog, they went as quickly as they came, getting sucked back towards the trees as if they had a gravitational pull to the center of the forest. Confused, Cuiladan turned his head, and found that all the creatures, which had clearly outnumbered the small band and were winning the skirmish, were leaving.
With them, went the dark clouds covering the sun, and within minutes, the small road under the eaves was lighted again by the greenish tint of the leaves. The only sign of the battle was that there were bodies of the dead, scattered across the undergrowth, their blood stained red upon the brown earth.
He looked around, seeing that his brothers and the guards seemed just as bewildered as he was.
"That was strange," Ranien nearly whispered hollowly. "We are near Dol Guldur and I expected an attack, but there was no point in that."
Gildor nodded. "We were outnumbered. They could have easily killed us, and usually Orcs do not leave unless satisfied with their kills." He looked at the dead creature at his feet with disgust and pulled out his sword from its neck. He, Cuiladan, and Elrohir had been the only ones who had gotten their weapons in time before the horses bolted.
Suddenly, Cuiladan bit his lip at a turn of genius. The entire picture fit. Estel had disappeared and the Orcs had as well, without finishing them off. Hoping against hope that what he thought was not true, he searched the road for Morwen.
She, also, had disappeared.
He felt a shudder of pain shot through his heart.
"Valar be damned!" he spat in anger and hurt. He should have known that this would happen. He should have known that his trust would be betrayed again as it had been before.
"What is it?" Elladan asked gently, knowing his brother's temper; he would never have an outburst like this unless
"It was a kidnapping!" he explained bitterly. Why had he not thought of this before? Why had he believed that he could trust Morwen? "They have taken Estel. The Orcs never wanted us dead. The Shadow here must have known about us. He does not wish us dead yet. First, he must toy with us."
Orophin caught on quickly. "Morwen must have been his plant," he said in his own tongue. "We fell for it completely. He wants Estel so he can lure the rest of us in."
Elrohir clenched his fists and turned from the group. Cuiladan could see him trying to hold back his anger as his cutting tone issued forth. "And torture us like he did with our mother, no doubt."
His twin walked over and put a hand on his shoulder for comfort. The two shared a look of anguish, and both remembered the look of pain and suffering on their mother's face as she was carried onto the gray elven ship heading West.
"We have to find him," Elladan said at last.
There was a silence as the travelers realized their peril. They were in Mirkwood forest, without a guide, at the mercy of the Shadow, horseless, and a treacherous woman already gave their position away.
"We will be falling straight into his trap," Gildor replied quietly.
"He is our brother," Elrohir said firmly, his voice devoid of his usual cynicism. "We must, trap or not. And once we find Morwen, I can guarantee her death."
Cuiladan shuddered at his brother's cold words, but nodded. "Let us go then, and pray to the Valar that we are not captured."
The task was done.
He could feel it.
He stopped the clouds and let the sun shine again over the forest of Mirkwood, hoping to save his depleting energy. His strength had not completely returned, but it was enough to bestow fear upon the malleable heart of Morwen of Lossarnach.
In the darkness, He smiled.
He resided in Dol Guldur, a plain empty room with a throne composed of shadow. He needed nothing else.
"Now we shall wait," He replied, looking down at the trembling figure of the woman prostrate on the ground. "You have helped me much. And for that, I shall give you a gift."
He let out a small wave of energy, touching her with a cold hand.
She shuddered, and had she not had so much strength of will, she would have backed away. She hated him. He could feel it. But she was willing to do anything to get her husband's love back. Women were always so easily manipulated.
"Thank you, Master," she mumbled. Despite her noble lineage, she had never had the courage to look up at him once whenever they met.
"Place your hand on my throne, Morwen of Lossarnach," He commanded. The shadows swirled before her eyes, and her heart leaped uncomfortably as she trembled in his eyes.
More than anything, she hated his throne. It moved and changed, never staying the same place for more than a second at a time. It was nothing but an empty black hole.
Against her will, she felt her body walking towards it, her hand outstretched as if to touch it. The bloated body of Darkness above the throne was alluring, like a song of the elves, pulling her in.
Before she knew it, her hand was immersed in the black throne. Her eyes widened as a sudden, searing pain lanced up her arm and fire seemed to spread through her bones. With a cry of pain, she fell backwards, clutching her hand, tears forming in her eyes.
"Your gift requires you to be bound forever to me," the rumbling voice of the Shadow replied. He smiled inwardly once more, and ignored the piercing cries of anguish from the woman.
"No!" Morwen screamed. "You cannot! I forbid it! I did not do it willingly!"
He turned his mind elsewhere.
There were more important matters at hand than his servant's happiness. After all, she was now victim to his every beck and call.
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