Phew... wow... I actually posted! So many things have happened since I posted Chapter 13, that I can't believe I'm still into this story. Well, I've started driving, and my schedule is a lot more hectic now. I couldn't post for a few weeks because someone tattled on me and I had some of my stories taken off of this site. I was banned.

If that happens again, I'm taking all my stories off. Yes. That's a threat.

But for the rest of you, enjoy!

Chapter 14

Tears of Illumination

The darkness was alarming, pressing down on him. And yet, somehow, in one instant, it seemed to get even darker and the shadows pressed deeper upon his soul. A chilling drop of sweat trickled down his side, and his breath caught in his throat. Why he was sweating, he did not know. The air had suddenly grown icy.

Estel raised his head slightly so as not to irritate his already pounding migraine, but this elevation did not help his sight or the temperature. He tried to move his bound legs towards his chest just a little to keep in warmth, but the rope running from his hands to his ankles was too tight.

An uncanny feeling that someone or something was watching him passed over his mind. Knowing it was stupid, but not knowing how he could be injured more, he called out, "Who is there?"

Silence answered him.

Had he imagined it? He must have been hit harder over the head than he thought. Why had he thought going through Mirkwood forest was a good idea? Why had he ever wanted to go adventuring?

"So you are one of the band of those bastards of Elrond," a soft, oily voice spoke.

Before he could stop himself, Estel hissed in a sharp breath, deafening in the silence. Valar damn it, he mentally cursed, knowing that he had given away his position and relation.

"Men are not known for their courage and bravery," the same voice sniveled again. "But you… you were raised by the elves. You are dear to them." Even Estel's clouded mind told him that he should be noting the finer details of the voice's pitch and tone in case he heard it again, but each detail seemed to slip away as another emerged itself, and the boy found that this memory was like a sieve. He simple could not remember the inflections of the voice, as if someone had put a stopper on his wits.

"Good," the indeterminate voice laughed. "They will come looking for you."

Estel's jaw suddenly became unfrozen, and he gasped, "Where am I?"

It laughed. "You will see, boy."

Flames of torches leaped into view.

"Valar damn it!" Elrohir cursed as he came across another indecipherable word. Cuiladan rubbed his eyes and looked towards the eaves above him, surprised that he still could not see the pinkish eastern lights indicating daybreak. The notebook was so well encrypted that even long-term scholars of Elvish such as the twins could not understand it.

The man rubbed off his sleep and laughed. "Well, you'll have to give her credit for creativity."

Elladan growled low in his throat. "I'll she her creativity with my sword the next time I lay eyes on her," he mumbled. The man's chest tightened at these words, and a strong urge to defend Morwen came upon him.

Shaking his head, he swallowed his defense for her and gritted his teeth in silence. The most plausible theory is that she betrayed you and took your brother captive! He reminded himself, and images of those bright brown eyes swam through his mind.

The sweetness of rosy lips and the softness of her body against his… He could feel his loins tighten with pain at the very thought. And it was not just physical pleasure they shared, but it felt as if their very souls were linked.

Her easy laugh, gentle smile, graceful arms…

"Cuiladan!"

He looked up sharply.

"Are you going to sit there and daze or help us with this notebook?"

Grateful for something to take his mind off of that captivating woman, the man stood and walked to the fire, where Elrohir was busily scrawling letters onto a piece of parchment. His elvish grace seemed to have left him as he slashed furiously with his quill at his mistakes and rearranged the Tengwar once again.

"If only I could get the first line," he muttered to himself, as Cuiladan knelt beside the two, peering at the ink-covered notebook.

The flourishing script, with its rounded letters and light quill strokes, even reminded the man of Morwen, and he closed his eyes. Why could he not get her out of his head? This was not love; it was torture!

He watched as Elladan handed Elrohir another common key used for deciphering messages and winced as Elrohir threw down the key when he got another line of garble. Before he could help himself, Cuiladan pointed out, "I don't think those pre-made keys will work. I am sure she made up a key for herself."

Wordlessly, Elrohir glared at him, snatched up the notebook, and shoved it at Cuiladan, along with a quill and the spare parchment. In the same silent storm of frustration, he began to pace the length of the firelight on the ground. Elladan took a look at his twin and cocked an eyebrow at his other brother in apology before joining Elrohir in his long strides.

Cuiladan sat and stared at the rows of letters in front of him and the uneven spaces among them. Immediately, he was bored by the nonsense written in front of him. His head began to ache as he pondered through row after row of jargon. The firelight danced in front of his eyes, and his mind began to wander.

This is ridiculous, the thought came out of nowhere. I do not even know what language this is supposed to be in. The elvish letters tell me she is familiar with the Tengwar, but I have never heard her speak Sindarin. She did not seem to understand any of us when we spoke it.

But she is a great actress, the other side of him countered. You know that from first hand experience. Valar forbid, she could have even pretended her love for you. With someone like her, you never know.

At this thought, a sharp pain lanced across his chest and pressure expanded from his sternum to his ribs. Without knowing why, tears came, distorting his vision, and rendering the notebook and the words in front of him into rows of blurs.

Why had the Valar put such taxes on his heart? What had he done to deserve this? Why—?

Wait.

He had seen something among the letters.

For a second, it had made sense. But as he blinked, his vision became clear, and all the meaning was lost again. Shaking his head, he forced himself to stare at the paper, forgetting all thoughts of the Valar's curses. That moment of illumination, however, had gone.

But he was sure he had seen words!

Very slowly, he squinted at the paper until the lines blurred again.

Still nothing.

He continued to squint, letting his eyes go out of focus, forcefully making the paper in front of him nothing but a blur.

As he fought with his vision, he tried to focus his mind, but it was to no avail. Frustration along with agitation set in, and he gripped the book by his fingernails, digging into the pages as if that would let out the meaning of the jumble of letters on the page. Finally, when he began to doubt whether he had seen anything, the sense suddenly came back, though, again, he was unprepared for it.

He gasped, sliding his eyes into narrow slits.

There it was again!

But as he tried to focus, it slipped away.

Very slowly, he again blurred his vision.

With a hiss of joy of discovery, he hastily began scrawling the key onto the spare parchment. The quill flew across the page, and Cuiladan anted to hit himself for not having seen it before this. It was so obvious now that he realized it, he had to have been a dullard not to see it at first!

As the quill scratched its last strokes, he cried out, "Elladan! Elrohir! I have it!"

"Do not worry," the ageless voice intoned with a hint of malice as the torches drew closer from the other end of the winding dark cave. "My servants answer only to me. And since I want no harm to come to you, they shall not hurt you."

Estel shivered, every particle and thought in his mind doubting that statement, but with his limbs tied, he could do nothing. He could only decide not to give it the benefit of seeing his fear, and said nothing, clenching his jaw. The voice did not speak for a few moments, which was enough time for the torch carriers to arrive.

Though he was momentarily blinded by the bright flames, he could not mistake the acrid smell of rotting flesh that came with the creatures, though he had only encountered them twice before.

Orcs. At least five of them.

He blinked, but even in the light, he could not find the one who had spoken. Only the gruff breathing of the Orcs could be heard, as their black eyes glittered with a terrible hunger as they looked at him. The tallest one, bandy-legged and crooked-backed, took a sidestep toward him, sniffing. Estel almost fainted from the fetid stench that rolled off of the creature in billows.

At his obvious display of revulsion, the thing laughed. "Man-flesh…" he rolled the words across his tongue as if he was already tasting his dinner. "Man-flesh for us to eat?" he asked the air around him, and the other foul creatures sniggered at the prospect of having fresh meat.

"No, Snaga," the voice only held a hint of reprimanding. "He is not to be harmed in any way… physically. He must still be able to run and wield a sword. I have other plans for him. He is not for eating."

A look of regret came across the Orcs' faces, and Estel could have sworn he saw a sign of a pout on Snaga's hideous lips. "Not for eating?" he grunted, turning those simple words into the worst of curses with his offensive grate of a voice. "Then what is he good for?"

The silence after Snaga's words was just enough to make the next line ominous.

"Use your imagination."

Thanks for hanging in their with me, you guys. I really appreciate it. Please review!