Chapter Eleven
'Not this Way'
'Klavier' by Rammstein
She stood by the gates, watching... Her darkened eyes glued to the backs of the warriors until they vanished into the early morning mist so common at this altitude. A deep, shuddering sigh forced the air out of her lungs, the silky strands the color of the ink fell forward obscuring her features, the female's lips quivered. Over twenty years she had waited, hoped feverishly, to only see the time chip away at her heart's perseverance... Now she had just bade farewell to her mate and her young son. The rhythmic clangor of the armor pieces vanished and with it her will, Narbai let the tears flow. Detaching herself from the wall the Orcess pulled her fur-rimmed hood up taking a stony passageway back to her dwelling... It was empty now she reminded herself biting onto her lip with force.
"If you were only here now my tiny, mischievous girl... Your old Ma would be alright..." Her hope withered but the gnawing ache at the back of her heart did not. Narbai found herself speaking as if addressing her long lost daughter...
The commander's mate was truly alone now.
x x x
A flock of crows glid over the battle grounds cawing unstoppably, there were too many dead to count, too many open wounds, too much exposed flesh to sink their beaks into. Careening sidelong one of the ravens broke apart from the group, his flight path took him to the frozen falls as his altitude decreased tremendously. The scattered Sun rays broke through the clouds illuminating the bird's onyx feathers. It swooped low again and again before settling onto the jagged sheet of ice. Here he sat, watching, his eyes two bottomless shimmering beads. Like a black mirror they reflected what was lost...
The large bird took off sharply, pumping his wings until he has reached the wind tunnel. The raven glid South-West, heading for the dark wood.
It was as if her heart was clenched suddenly and released for just a fleeting moment but she knew... Something was horribly awry... Morhûn leaped to her feet striding to the entry she fumbled to hold onto the door frame, lightheaded so suddenly... Cawing outside forced her to fling the door ajar. The sybil extended her wiry fingers. As she looked into the black eyes, her own morphed arcane, the grey lips parted and contorted.
"Nar.." She seethed. "It was not destined this way..." The jade crumpled onto the wooden bench and the raven bounced off her hand settling by her side. "Not this way..." Morhûn's gaunt frame began to drown in traversing, blackening shadows, they travelled at great speeds, flooding the entire stretch of the forest...
x x x
The Northern winds teased his long black locks as the commander of Gundabad halted his beast. The Warg seized the trot abruptly, his claws dug into the semi-frozen earth creating a volley of rocks. The wolf's maw remained agape, the lips curled exposing the natural weapons. The stench of the enemy flooded their noses.
Living in the mountains gave Shapogatâr's half-blood's skin a little color. The years hardly aged him but his eyes spoke of the endured, the time passed... Reflecting the afternoon Sun they radiated an almost otherworldly glow. His offspring by his side they both wore perfectly fitted armor decorated with spiked hooks positioned purposefully on shoulder-guards and arm bracers. It was produced in Gundabad...
When the order for master's armor had arrived the commander knew the days of peace were over, the deterioration of the King's mind had progressed beyond repair... Nothing had stopped it, nothing would now...
When he rode in to summon the army, Narzug has confirmed that Oakenshield still lived... The sudden reminder evoked a reaction, the one the commander had stifled immediately, Shapogatâr readied the battalions at once. His was loyal, and will be, perhaps to his end. His askance stare fell onto his son, his first male child, and perhaps now the only one... The boy's jade eyes scanned the terrain thoroughly. He is a great soldier... Will be a great commander. The half-blood flicked his wrist, aback of him the battle horn resounded the frozen landscape as a company rushed forth to scout the terrain.
The army of Gundabad has announced its arrival.
The soldiers spread out, a part of the army sprinted to aid the fighting in the valley, a smaller battalion circled the crag sniffing for Dwarves. Shapogatâr and Sâkaf remained on the top of the hill with the rest. The commander acted on his military experience, yet he still had to search for the supreme commander to further the advance.
After a several minutes they scaled the steep mountainside and came upon an aftermath of a confrontation. A large pool of scarlet red spread like a blanket, so prominent against the pristine white of the newly fallen snow. It crepitated under his footsteps resounding the eerily silent hilltop. Apart from the bloody stain was a smaller, darker one... It was smudged and merged into a dragged trail disappearing over the edge. The commander knelt, scooping a handful of the bloody snowflakes. His fingers unclenched immediately, the slowly melting dirty slush slithered off his palm deliberately as if to make a point. The Orc straightened tersely and made an uncertain step toward the precipice, for the first time in his life sensing weakness overpower his limbs.
And there she was.
There she was...
He stared into space, blocking, attempting not to see... The male blinked hard, his eyes dilated as the breathing picked up the pace. His lips opened to release a shuddering breath... He spun to face his son, the eyes glassed and unreadable.
"Stay here." He ordered.
Descending took less than a minute but it seemed a while, his limbs were leaded... Perhaps it was an error. Someone else with the bright hair...
Twenty years...
His eyes stung, the scent of blood couldn't lie... A lump of nausea wedged in his throat, the heart expanded, tweaked... He held onto to his chest to quiet the frenzied pace. Her small body lay tucked against his master's as if she was simply asleep peacefully.
"Rimkaur..." The lips twitched barely. Her head, her chest, her face and lengthy tresses all colored in deep red of her blood, the rivulets entwined with the coal black of Azog's. The tiny snowflakes rested on her lashes...
"Lûb..." Shapogatâr whispered tenderly as his fingers brushed her locks aside, they burned against her ice cold skin. "Daughter..." The commander grasped her hands, cupping them in his large palms, he brought himself forth to kiss her fingers.
His little girl was lifeless.
The receding Sun rays reflected in the large tear drops he did not fight any longer.
A lot of questions lay unanswered, he was overcome with grief without attempting to comprehend... Was this the gesture of the undying loyalty to their King or was it... Shapogatâr's fingers sank into the soft leather of her garb as he lifted her limp frame, her head eased backwards letting the mired, fiery tresses brush the ice. All at once he rested the body back down. Scanning the terrain in one long look his gaze fell onto his offspring once again. The teeth impression marked her neck taking over her flesh proudly, there to announce the eternal claim... And now for the first time his stare landed onto their master. As algid as his daughter's, body, limp, lifeless...
Marked.
A neat bite claimed his lower neck, small, precise yet meant to scar. For a fleeting moment the half-blood's eyes grew widened, his lips morphed to be a tight grey line, the fingernails raked the icy surface in exasperation.
Perhaps now he will never know...
The half-Orc scooped his firstborn once again resting her body out of the view, sidelong of the lake in a deep snowdrift. He cannot take her home like this, Narbai can never know... Setting his daughter neatly he packed the snow around, then tenderly, as if she could still feel slipped an arrow shaft out of her shoulder muscle. The elegant weapon was undoubtedly of the Elvish make, but what stood out was the two tiny feathers at the tip of the fletching, they were painted gold. Forty years ago one of these arrows was poised to rip through his neck, deep in the shadows of Mirkwood... The gold dye as fair as the hair of its owner... The half-Orc's lips were numbened by the wintry chill of her skin when he kissed her forehead.
The commander straightened curtly, letting the segments of his armor click against one another he freed his weapon.
"Sâkaf." His gruff voice bellowed.
The young Orc arrived stunned down to the river valley with the equally mortified comrades in arms. Their stares could not peel apart from their downed King. All bowed their heads in an almost coordinated unison.
"Sâkaf, Maush, Farmak and Hûrûrz." The commander surveyed the soldiers. "Neither Dwarves nor Elves or Men must get the hold of the master." His arm swooped to the left.
"Head to Gundabad, await me there."
x x x
He caught up to him on top of the hill where the two sides of a defile were connected by a fallen tower. His throaty, furious growl crawled forth resounding the stone brick walls, until it reached the ears of his opponent. Legolas' head tilted sidelong, the chiseled cheekbones lifted visibly as his fingers circled his dagger hilts at the ready, he spun effortlessly electing a sparring ready stance.
A tiny object tossed at his feet, the Elven Prince gazed upon it, rolling his shoulders. His jaws tightened momentarily. He hoped this Orc wouldn't cross his path ever again. The Elf darted forth propelling off the protruding stone, his finely crafted blades slashed through the air aiming expertly at the neck gap in the armor. Spines in Shapogatâr's arm bracer dug into the Elven leather guard when he bent his arm forth to thwart the advance. Legolas found his wrist twisted, his muscles resisted against the onset, the dagger fell and bounced kicked away by the half-blood's boot. The archer elbowed his opponent retreating a few steps back with a slight wince that contorted his light pink lips.
The former mercenary attacked in an instant, his eyes reflected the cold, calculating hatred he felt for the Elf. He swung his steel yatagan with the deadly force. When it missed it bounced off the rocks sending sparks in all directions. When it came close, it nearly drew blood, the Elven Prince found his clothing far less suitable. Legolas unlaced his damaged bracer hastily.
"You scamper like a mouse." The half-Orc sneered swinging the blade. "Fight like you ought to, Golug."
Legolas set his jaws, advancing forth he was off to one of his avoiding maneuvers when his head had jerked back, stunned he licked his lips sensing wetness. A rivulet of scarlet mired his flawless porcelain complexion after the scimitar struck him flat across the nasal bridge. Enraged the prince flew ahead, avoiding another swing he spun landing his boot onto Shapogatâr's knee. Forcing the later to stagger forth, he yanked at the cuirass poising the dagger into the vertex.
His slender body fell to slam against the bricks of the walkway weighed by the Orc commander's heavy armor. The half-blood rolled off, scooping the prince by his overcoat, he flung his frame against the wall with the brutal force.
The dizziness ascending the thought that was circling above his head had finally swooped in, this Orc was the one who came into his father's realm so long ago, fathered a child with his half-sibling, the tiny red-haired female had survived apparently...
Until his arrow had intervened...
The Elf snapped back to reality as his opponent's weapon came to rest at his neck. His jaws set and the lips contorted in a disdainful expression.
"You know what this' for." The Orc commander growled lowly.
"Don't!" Someone's concerned yet assured voice resounded, it trickled in as a rhythmic song of a forest stream. "Shapogatâr." He paused once again. "Please... Don't..."
He knew that voice. His embers flicked up to land onto the King of Mirkwood. The calm blue eyes returned his stare, Thranduil strode forward pacing himself. The Elf's elegantly etched, shade of platinum armor clicked mutely as he approached. He nodded courteously, with cleverly concealed relief when the half-blood hesitantly released his offspring.
Here they were, staring at one another... The presence of each reminded the other of past and lost. They ommited the plesantries, there was no time, no place for such things. Considering the fact that none was joyous to lay eyes on the other as well.
Aback of the Orc Legolas lifted his blade. The faint sound of air being parted by a thin blade came to Shapogatâr's ear as his hefty weapon swung in his wrist, on the path to cause destruction of its own. Thranduil rushed forth, with a skillful swoop of his blade the hilt landed onto Shapogatâr's nape.
"Leave him." The Elven King commanded, his eyes clouding with a memory, foreign and unknown to his son as Greenleaf strived to finish the job.
Thranduil sighed deeply, his pale blue eyes left the stone tiles of the pathway to land onto his firstborn son as he strode away stiffly...
"Your mother loved you, Legolas." He breathed out with an emotion pouring forth so unforeseen to his offspring. His powerful voice faultered, cracked as broken crystal. "She loved you very much..."
x x x
The gusts of the icy wind advanced with force rustling his silky locks, forcing them to rise and flap like the wings of a golden bird. The King stepped across the snowy terrain. Thranduil's demeanor was calm and poised outwardly yet on the inside the chill slinked up deliberately to take hold of his heart. His son has left to relinquish the safety of his home to seek the quest of his own.
The Captain of the guards' limitless grief rushed back the agony of the loss of his own, so many moons ago. And yet it wasn't all, the half-blood warrior drove the keen sword of pain further yet putting the most recent anguish in remembrance.
The King of Mirkwood stepped across the fluff blanketed lucid surface his mind in another place, the recently freed sunrays shot forth from the cloud cover setting his segmented armor aglow. When he had reached the solidified precipice his gaze scanned the elaborate formation of the downward cascading water. The pristine white and clear was stained by the night black of Orc's blood... Somehow the sight caused the shivers up his spine...
A sudden sunbeam reflected off his arm guard, it bounced cheerfully without a worry in the world and when the Elf's arm fell it settled onto a snowdrift. Thranduil compressed his lips momentarily letting his gaze fall back onto the ice. He missed this... Missed admiring the world carelessly, missed her... His sky-blue gaze tracked the sunbeam once again as it landed onto the wall of the icy bluff. He was pulled there unknowingly, as if attempting to capture the tiny ray. When he approached it danced on a child's blanched features. As small as she appeared the female did resemble a child. Thranduil knelt instinctively.
A human, clothed in Orc garb, begrimed by the blood colors of both races... Dangerous in life, no doubt as an expression of unreigned determination was still detectable on her motionless alabaster features. Yet it was still innocent, pure, kind... The Elven King was transfixed by thoughts looming over the woman's body. His numb fingers straightened instinctively as if having minds of their own they scooped a lock of her stained hair.
As a blink shifted his lids a barely audible murmur left his lips. "Nare..."
Thranduil straightened deliberately, the strange female's limp body rested in his assured arms.
x x x
The six sense that most humans are graced with is heightened, strengthened in animals, especially wolves.
She was lost. The horrid, gnawing feeling at the back of her neck told her to sprint Northward despite her mistress' orders. Yet the strong, pungent scent of the enemy deterred her, she had also sensed blood... Rivers of it. The massive raven flocks glid past heading to the valey's depression.
Pafund collapsed covering her massive snout with her paws. She was exhausted. For days she darted the plains, coming close to the mountain, the Warg witnessed the swarms of Dwarves flooding the valley, no sign of the one she searched for, the one that saved her own life... The patches of the faint, barely discernable scent of her mother littered the area. Too weak and scattered to follow... The black wolf released a howl at the large glowing disk of the setting Sun.
She was powerless, directionless...
Giving her head a vigorous shake the Warg set her golden eyes onto one direction she knew, the place of her birth,- the mount Gundabad.
Black Speech:
Nar - No
Lûb - Daughter
Golug- Elf