I hope you all enjoyed a lovely holiday!
Thank you wonderfully for your gracious reviews! The constructive criticism is greatly appreciated (special thanks to previouslyjade for pointing out my embarrassing error in the summary of the story). As some of you noticed, the former chapter was rather short, and I apologize for the abruptness. Instinctively, I would list out my pathetic excuses, but, as that would not alter the length of the previous chapter and most likely bore you horribly, I shall not. Any and all reviews are appreciated! I hope you enjoy your weekend.
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.
A rough kick to her stomach caused Rodaìn to jerk awake. She curled inward at the sudden pain and emitted a sharp whimper when the agony from the whiplashes carved into her back arose. However, her eyes quickly flitted open to survey the danger and the current position she was in.
"Up, girl. Fast," the gravelly voice of an orc instructed her.
Rodaìn's body stiffened and she struggled to reach an upright position in order to fully assess her situation. Yet, this was nearly impossible to attain at first, as she slid back to the coarse, sun-dried grass when her bound hands provided no support.
This time, taking care of her hands, she managed to push her scratched face off of the rough ground and sat up so that she balanced on her knuckles.
The orc grunted. "Come, girl," the creature ordered as he pulled on the rope that was tied to her bound hands. He turned around and began dragging her forward.
Though Rodaìn's face was slicked with sweat and tinged with blood, and cracked tendrils of curls were glued to her forehead by this revolting paste, Rodaìn struggled to maintain some portion of her dignity. She would not be so easily cowed by a lone orc. This situation greatly differed from when she was trapped by hundreds of orcs alongside Merry and Pippin.
Merry and Pippin! She hoped they had gotten away safely. The two hobbits did not need to endure more pain. I can handle it. She believed they had eluded the chasing orcs, but she would not be fully at peace until she saw their lovely heads of curly locks again. Rodaìn had grown to care for the hobbits dearly, regardless of the fact that they were older than her. Their eager dispositions brought light to her heart, and she had not experienced such open friendliness before.
With thoughts of her friends and her own strength in mind, Rodaìn reached for a substantial breath and quickly gasped as she pushed herself to her feet. Her leather slippers clung to her blistered soles and she managed to drag her legging-clad legs forward.
The orc turned his head towards her to view the cause of the lightened burden. He said nothing and continued onward.
Rodaìn was disoriented. She was usually adept at harboring a general sense of direction which aided her greatly through her wandering travels, but she possessed no knowledge of how far the orc had taken her while the black blankets of unconsciousness blindfolded her.
She constantly stumbled in her efforts to keep up with the orcs' steady pace. As they progressed, Rodaìn realized that the orcs' eyesight and direction were trained on a diminishing line of smoke that spiraled off and faded into the pale blue-gray sky.
As they neared the smoke and came abreast a gently sloping hill, the desired endpoint became apparent. Rodaìn's eyes followed the grayish smoke to a plummet down to the scorched and ashy bodies of orcs. These were the orcs that the horsemen must have burned after the battle at the site at which she and the hobbits had been imprisoned. A sickening smell permeated the air and invaded Rodaìn's nostrils. The pile of orcs was a conglomeration of severed heads, shredded arms, and speared bodies. Rodaìn shivered at the sight. Though she was not cold, she instinctively grabbed for her clunky brown coat to wrap around her arms in a sad attempt of a comforting embrace. But, it was not there. The orcs must have stolen her cloak during the time of her captivity and she had not even noticed. At the time, the necessities of survival had overtaken her concern for her material possessions.
Rodaìn's eyes watered slightly at the sight of the burnt bodies. She did not know if it was from the rancid stench or the overwhelming feeling and picture of death that haunted her being, or the twisted concoction of both that brewed in her mind. Rodaìn did not care to dwell on it.
Always liking to be observant, Rodaìn turned her gaze to the orc and noticed his general indifference to the scene, despite the fact that his fellow army had morphed into a mutilated and grotesque pile of carcasses. How does one feel such indifference? Do they feel nothing but rage and greed?
The orc began speaking to her. "Listen, girl. I'm hungry." Ah, so they feel hunger as well. "You go get me a head and liver. I'll be right here watching ya, and if you take off- you're dead," he sneered, gesturing to his bow and quiver of arrows that were likely pile of bodies was still a fair distance away, and the orc wanted Rodaìn to get the orc remains in the case that someone may happen upon whoever was gathering the "food." The orc knew he would be killed on sight. However, the bodies were not far enough away that the orc could not shoot her if she began to run. There were no trees close enough to rush to in time, and she did not want to test this orc's accuracy if he was confident enough to know she would not escape if it meant immediate death.
"Go!" The orc snarled at Rodaìn. Rodaìn stared. She still could not think of a proper plan- this was most likely the only sliver of opportunity she would be offered. A sudden punch to the face and a kick from the orc caused Rodaìn to stumble forward. "Go now, stupid girl! I was going to eat you tomorrow, but I will eat you tonight if you don't obey me, you disobedient wench! Be fast!"
Rodaìn guided her trembling legs toward the ashy carcasses. She did not want to be eaten. When she reached the outskirts of the pile, she took shaky footsteps to the nearest orc head in her line of sight. As she squatted down to pick it up, she tried to ignore the stab wound through the enlarged eyeball and the missing chunk of scalp that was stained with smeared orc blood. However, the horrifying image of the head of the orc appeared in faded red through her eyelids every time she blinked. Rodain scooted closer and gingerly reached for the orcs charred hair, hoping it would not crumble in her grip. Her hands were still bound by the rough rope, making it difficult to carry the orc's head. The weight of the head dragged the ropes down on her wrists, burning the areas previously rubbed raw from her desperate attempts at escape.
As she slowly straightened herself, the tender skin on her back burned, worsening her already horrid situation. Even if she did attempt to run at this moment, the pain from her back would make it excruciating to move, which would allow her to sprint only a few meters before the pain would overtake her being.
Holding the crusty hair cautiously in her dirty fingertips, Rodaìn was forced to approach the mass of bodies in order to find the liver that the orc desired. How should I even know what an orc liver looks like? Judging by the orcs' appetites, I am assuming the orc that captured me knows of the liver's appearance. Therefore, it would be fruitless to try to fool him. With a sigh, Rodaìn stepped forward, and lurched slightly over an uneven bump in the ground. She looked down. The sight that greeted her made her sick.
A man. The majority of his face and shoulder had crumbled from the fire and his bones shone ivory amid the ashes. His left leg was severed below the knee from a wound inflicted by an orc and his torso was twisted with shreds of cloth, skin, blood, and ash. Rodaìn could not see any other men amid the orc bodies. But everyone here was dead. Death does not consider race. Death considers little.
Rodaìn almost felt the contents of the stomach come up, but she forced them down. However, the object that she stumbled over, attached to an outstretched arm, was a spear. Rodaìn suddenly dropped the orc head she had been carrying. Quickly, pretending to search for a liver among the stray appendages and bodies, Rodaìn efficiently sawed through the inside of her bindings, but stopped when mere strands were all that held the rope together. In this way, after a decent rest, Rodaìn assumed she could break the ropes using little force in order to escape from the orc while he was sleeping during the night in the future. Satisfied with her plan, Rodaìn picked up the orc head once again and continued her search for the orc liver. Unknown by Rodaìn due to her muddle thoughts, the orc had warped her into a slave.
She blindly kicked through orc remains in search of a liver, staining her leather slippers with the dark blood of orcs. Almost ready to lean down to pick up a random smattering of orc remains, Rodaìn suddenly heard the distinctive pounding of hooves of several horses. Rodaìn immediately turned towards the hill that the orc that had captured her stood atop, and witnessed him send an arrow her way before turning around and sprinting back to the forest. Rodaìn let out a surprised yelp and ducked. But, in his haste, the orc's aim had gone awry and the arrow landed harmlessly in the head of an orc several meters to the right of Rodaìn's crouched form.
Remembering the hooves and not having the time to look and determine their race or affiliation, Rodaìn swallowed her disgust and pain, dropped the orc head she had been carrying, and squirmed underneath the heavy torso of an orc and the leg of another. She desperately hoped that the horses and riders would pass by, and that her already bloodied clothes would blend in. Rodaìn's breathing increased in pace as her anxiety grew. There is too much. There is so much horror here. I am smothered under the dead, as if they have conquered me.
While lying in wait, Rodaìn quickly slipped the rope bonds of her shaking hands after breaking the final threads. When the pounding sounds of the hooves yielded, a violent tremor shook Rodaìn's frightened body as a desperate scream ripped through the eerie fabric of the atmosphere. An object thudded near Rodaìn's hiding place. The glassy onyx eyes of the decapitated head of an orc stared at Rodaìn, penetrating the eyelids that attempted to shield her own frantic blue eyes from these dark tragedies of horror.