The prisoner was shocked. When she had seen her guard entering her cell, she had felt her hope drain away, her last chances of escape vaporising as mistily as they had come. She did not understand why he was helping her and dared not rejoice for it could be a trap. If it was, what would be dealt out to her? The stripping, branding, shaming..could Azog think of worse punishments? Yes. he could and he would. Defiantly, she pushed her thoughts away. It was a chance and she would take it. For the better or for the worse.
Joining in the war cries of the Orcs, she hobbled along with her guard, not daring to lose him, at least not until she set foot outside of this hell. The Orcs were all fired up now. They were chanting and cheering, calling for the doom of all who would not bow to their Dark Lord, Sauron. Here too, there were the leaders and the followers. And there were the 'losers', as she termed them. They hated Sauron with every cell of their being but did not have the strength to resist him. Denied life and death, tired and vanquished, joining Sauron was their only hope for a less torturous life. They would still be threatened, whipped, maybe knifed but they would be spared from the kind of torture that the rebels as herself had to endure. Her faithful followers had perished in their support of her. They had been killed, in the worst possible ways. Each had died taking the name of their King and their maker. As one after another had gone, her tears had dried up.
Her time in prison had not been for naught. Once Sauron had been content that she had been vanquished, his interests had wandered. Isolation was a strict companion, a wise teacher. She had reached into herself, drawing upon her strengths. Small as they had been then, she had honed them and strengthened them. One day, she would use it against him. She could be as evil as Sauron, as deadly as him. He needed a ring of power, she needed nothing for it was within her.
The light failed to blind her even momentarily. She was satisfied. So long had she been deprived of it, she had expected to be shocked by it. But, her eyes adjusted without a blink. Her ears picked up the slightest sounds. The growling of hungry stomachs, the muttered curses of hopeless Orcs, the fluttering of wings of insects and birds as they flew in terror for refuge from the dark presence that had descended upon them. Grass, plants and trees were cowering in fear, trembling and whimpering in their silent world. It appeared that there was little hope around. She caught a butterfly fluttering near her, pretending to swat it. Their conversation was quick. She learnt that they were travelling down to Dale. The Orcs were attacking there. The Elven King had held back the aid of his soldiers until the last moment.
She did not know what to think. Unable to judge, she held it back. Foolish was he who was quick to point an accusing finger. They had been marching for nearly a day now, but she felt no thirst nor hunger. She was used to having no food, was good at stealing the remains of the Orcs' meals. As they moved down and houses came into view, she tried to find her direction. Where were they now? She had to remain alert so that she could make out her location. The Orcs were becoming frenzied, some excited, leering in anticipation. The prisoner realised what it meant. They were going to attack, to destroy.
As they walked through the mountains, her location dawned on her. They were in Dale. And had already attacked. Strewn around were the bodies of men, women, children and ..elves. The prisoner looked closer, her own elven eyesight, sharp as it ever was, seeking the colours of Elven soldiers. Wishes hardly came true and it was the case again. The Elven King had appeared to relent after all. and doomed his soldiers. A Mirkwood soldier lay dead, his eyes open, mouth agape. His throat had been slit, his face slashed. The Orcs and the Wildmen must have done it. It gave them pleasure to destroy the beauty of the elves.
All around, it appeared to be the case. The Orcs had set out to destroy and had destroyed. As she trudged through the bodies, hardly managing to contain her anguish, she heard the sound of a horn. Not the sickening wail of the Orc horn, no, this was the melodious call of the elven horn. At least, it sounded melodious to her ears. But, it was not calling them to fight. The prisoner realised that they were going to withdraw. She was not surprised. In fact, she had wondered how the Elven King had allowed his soldiers to remain this long in Dale, getting them killed. It was so unlike him. He for whom the safety of his elves and his kingdom overruled all else. The horn sent the elves hurrying to their commander, not chaotically like the Orcs. No, the elves moved with precision and objective. Their swords raised, they slew all that blocked their paths and moved to their meeting point. If one were to fall in the process, the rest moved on. But no injured elf was left behind, they were carried forth by the rest.
As the Orcs jumped into the fight, the prisoner grabbed the chaos of the moment and stealthily moved away, seeking a safe place to hide. Soon, she found one, a tall tree with thick foliage that would shield her. About to get away, she was pushed down by an Orc that came stumbling down on her. It was her guard, an arrow had caught his throat. He would die slowly, painfully. The prisoner looked at him and her eyes clouded. He had been cruel to her but some reason had shown some mercy today. Was it just his nature to be evil because he was an Orc? She had no answers. She reached for the dagger that hung at his sides and raised her eyes to him. As they met, the Orc knew that she was seeking permission for what she was about to do. Closing his eyes, he waited. It was over in seconds, a neat slit across his throat, he struggled a few seconds and lay limp, lifeless.
Quickly, she removed all the weapons on the Orc, looting them for herself. As she looked around, she saw the elves coming down the path. She realised that they were going to their commander. Climbing the tree to avoid being seen, she craned her neck, seeking him out eagerly. There, he was. Behind his King, as always. And, she saw the King. Even in his armour, his grace and beauty had not abandoned him. His thick straight hair, hung long and golden. His body as fit and slender as ever, his face glowing in the light of the morning sun. His was an ethereal beauty. A presence that awed and commanded. Feared but respected. The Elven King of Mirkwood.
As the prisoner observed the situation, she realised that there was some kind of problem between the elves. One of the elves was pointing an arrow at her King. The prisoner was shocked. What was happening? Quickly, she closed her eyes and drew in her breath. After all these years, she was not even sure if it would work but she had spent her years trying to sharpen her power, control the full force of it. Now, she would find out whether she had succeeded.
"Power of the wind that blows
Heat of the fire that glows
Sprinkle of the Water that flows
Grain of the Earth upon which all grows
Stand with me as one against the foes
Sacred winds of the west.
Hear out my behest.
Bring to me the words
upon the lips of those yonder."
As if in answer, a light breeze fluttered by her, bringing her the knowledge she sought. As she realised what was happening, the prisoner was not angry. She was enraged.