Chapter 22 - It was said and remembered as such by the …

It was said and remembered as such by the oldest of them, that orcs did not come into being on their own, but were elves once. Elves that were captured and tortured until their fëa was ripped and torn to shreds. Their identities taken from them, their minds programmed to know only of hatred for all things living underneath the sun, only longing for the dark, cool womb underneath the earth where evil already dwelt in the early days. The change solidified further within each newly bred generation. Everytime the corruption penetrated their being a little further. Until, like Middle Earth itself, they had forgotten their first born origins, and called themselves orcs, changing their nature forever.

Gorchak, chewing on a dried piece of meat, looked out over the endless plains towards the north, wondering about the truth in these stories. Did he inherit more Elvish traits than his fellow orcs? His master had chosen him for his intelligence, not his strength, a lack that he was humiliated for many times. He was the least of the orcs, weak, skinny, without muscle or the much needed brawl-driven. But he survived against all odds. His words, quick as a whip, followed his agile mind seamlessly and although his fellow orcs often failed to see reason in them, his master did. When he could not avoid a fight, he would finish it dirty. He had his tricks and tools to master the brainless strength of others.

And in the end, against all odds and against his own expectations, he was chosen. He accepted with distrust fuelled by fear, but his master consolidated his new station by choosing a sworn bodyguard of fifty. Forcing their loyalty solely onto him, programming their minds from the moment of their creation to answer only to him, Gorchak.

His master's decision was instigated by the natural instincts of his servants. Orcs measure each other by testing out physical strength. Hierarchy was based solely upon this and could change during the course of a military campaign. And like so, strength became a weakness, for change of command within a state of battle caused defeat often.

Gorchak knew this to be true, he had witnessed it more than once, despairing the outcome. His master had acted upon the subtle hints he was allowed to give. And here he was, protected by brainless strength, in charge of an even more brainless horde. And with success. He had been allowed to take the newly bred wargs and the results were astounding. The intelligence they brought him was of invaluable worth. They had been able to penetrate the perimeters of the Elven Guards within the boundaries of that wretched realm, undetected. And it brought him sensitive knowledge, things that were meant to be kept secret. It engaged his quick mind to no end, he hungered for it. His servants told him that a female human was among them. She held a special position, under scrutiny of the scar-faced captain. Her demeanour seemed off, out of place and it seemed that she sought out secrets in the Dunedain strongholds, far North. He grimaced. He was good with secrets. The answer and solution both lay north, but she would not travel unseen. He would capture her, just like he, to his utter surprise, had managed to capture the Elf brothers that his master was obsessed with.

He stared at his bounty. Dark silken hair. It was unbelievable. The sons of Elrond. Within his grasp, at his mercy. The glory and reward this would bring him! Flesh, blood, domination. He shivered in anticipation, licking his black lips.

"Gorchak."

He turned towards the gruff voice, staring at his second in command. "Keep them unconscious for now. We need to run farther still."

"But those wretched Elves will not cross the boundaries of that realm."

Gorchak sighed. How many times did he need to explain this? "Dakgorim. You know who we captured? They will follow."

Dakgorim grinned, black spit dripping from his fangs. "Hope they will."

Gorchak rubbed his hands over his naked skull. His legs burned, but he was used to exhaustion. Weak as he was in combat, he did have endurance. He watched where his men held their precious burdens tied and unconscious. He looked forward to the first real resting place for he longed to hurt them, like they hurt so many of his kin. With disgust he watched their smooth skin, untainted. He hated the Elves. Spoiled, no hardships in their pretty lives. They lacked emotions, ambitions, directions. He spat on the ground. A race born to be dominated. Their time was waning. His time was on the rise and he would see his master's plans come to fruition.

They ran the rest of the night, the stars were to his relief, veiled by wispy clouds. He hated their glittering presence. It made his longing for the velvet darkness underneath the northern mountains all the stronger. His orcs complained loudly, the weight of the brothers wearing them out. During the night, the whips and other threats seemed to harvest insufficient results. Some of the orcs were on the brink of collapse. He cared not but for their growing vulnerability with every mile.

He needed to split up into the smaller bands with which he invaded these lands successfully these past weeks. The wargs would keep up communication between them, the smaller groups were less easily detected. And the elves would be unsure of which group to follow, hopefully splitting their forces up as well.

He smiled. He knew what would haunt them in a day or so and the power that came with their elven skills. They had lost to the Elven Guard when that golden haired filth came to their aid. His strength sent fear in his troop, his light blinding and too warm, his techniques skilled and enhanced by his magicks. No, he would not risk another attempt in a head-on confrontation. Their success lay in their speed and stealth now, not their numbers and fighting force.

The order to split up was greeted with much expected misunderstanding and anger about following the orders of a weakling. But Gorchak shrugged, stating if he would be wrong, their fate would be death and his masters had numbers to replace them. Then his guard killed the ones he pointed out for them. He enjoyed their fear, ordered the meat to be taken as food rations and soon the complaints stopped.

Without being ordered to, Dakgorim carried him when the guard of fifty resumed their march towards the north with even greater speed. The carrying was uncomfortable, Dakgorim's smell overwhelming, his armour hard, cutting in his flesh with every step. But his legs ached and he was for a moment grateful for Dakgorim's sheer size and strength. Next to him one of the elves was bouncing face down, blood dripping from his face. He licked his lips. He would give all he possessed to get a night with that untainted white flesh within his grasp. Would he dare ask his master for a taste of it as a reward? He shivered again at the thought of tarnishing all that tender whiteness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

But it was not the Rivendell Guard that was hunting the orcs to retrieve the heirs of Imladris' Master. Three figures had been riding with frantic speed northwards, trailing the orcs and wargs through the changing landscape, until the tracks split in several ways, leaving their pursuers in consternation. It took all the tracker abilities of two Elf warriors to discern footprints that carried a heavy load in between all the chaos on the ground. And now, a day later, they were crawling through tall grass towards a small camp, hoping to find Elrond's sons and to set them free.

Rin felt the familiar stirrings of fear rising inside of her staring at the wall of green around her. The warm and lush smell did not distract her from the uncomfortable movement of crawling on her belly with weapons, and she worried constantly about the twins. Are we too late? Will we be able to defeat them?

Her thoughts travelled back towards the day before, to how the duo brought her the worst of tidings. The death of Tessarion and the capture of their Lord's sons had weighed heavy on their hearts and when they overtook her she had read their faces like a book. She had stopped Bethril abruptly at the sight of them and the silence around her felt like a suffocating blanket on her sweating skin. Struggling to slow down her heartbeat and breath, she stared at their faces knowing what news they bore, a complex feeling of dread and anticipation washing over her. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, unable to turn away.

When the warriors had slid out of their saddles and wordlessly embraced her, it had made her feel suspended in time for a moment and she had wished it would last forever. But she knew that soon they would spill their dreadful news and she felt the sudden urge to beat them to it. As if control could make it undone. "Is he dead?" The words came out dry and heavy.

In surprise, Raithon nodded, face contorted by grief. "The Guard was ambushed. They were with too many and too strong. He fell in battle."

Tears came and would not stop. Tessarion, sweet Tessarion. She had felt him go, the realisation now seemed to hit her even more severely. She had felt him go, and he took a part of her with him. It had been too short. Their souls had touched, somehow. She knew he believed it, felt it. And she had felt it only when it was too late. And now he was truly gone. "Tell me how he died?" Anything to keep his memory with her longer.

"It was a worthy battle. His stance was magnificent, his skill unrivalled, but I fear exhaustion played a part in his demise. When in dire need, Lord Glorfindel's arrival brought things to a tipping point, lending him his own weapon. With it, only moments later, he saved me from a perilous situation. I was caught up with my own fight, I did not see it happening…." he swallowed a lump in his throat, "...but it was then that he saved Lord Glorfindel from certain death, taking a fatal blow that was meant for him, to his abdomen."

Her breath caught through her tears. "Glorfindel? Why was he there? What happened?"

Aien explained the turn of events. How Glorfindel's Guard came to the rescue, acting on the foresight of Master Elrond. Their bittersweet victory. The selfless actions of Tessarion. The shocked Glorfindel, refusing to accept the death of his friend until it was inevitable. The promise of Elrond's sons to Naertho to find her and see her safe.

Speechless, feeling her mind working in circles, the promise of Elladan and Elrohir baffled her most. Why had they travelled with the Guard, lending their aid, riding out with Glorfindel? What news from their father could instigate their assistance to the safeguarding of the realm? It must have been severe, with such an impact that they could not ignore it! And why would they voluntarily seek to chase her and see her safe? Why not choose others for that task. They did not want to see her.

Suddenly the tears for Tessarion fell again, surprising her. To her relief, the two Elf warriors had not comforted her, only handed her a skin with water silently.

It took her some time, but when she was in control of her body and emotions she stared at them suspiciously, confused by their grave, insistent faces. And she realised only then, that neither Elladan, nor Elrohir was in their company. "Is there more?"

They had shared a look, hesitant. A cold shiver broke out over her skin, already dreading their answer.

"Elrond's sons have been captured and are being taken north."

She felt all blood drain from her face. "Alive?" They nodded solemnly, guilt and shame clear on their fair faces. "Tell me all about it."

When they told her the turn of events and how Elrohir ran back towards the orcs, surrendering to them she jumped up shouting: "He did what?!"

What had he been thinking! Sacrificing himself, making their cause even more lost than it already seemed. What an idiot!

But now, crawling through the tall grass she saw no idiocy in his actions. Rin's mind was working furiously. She knew why he did it. She knew them well enough. He could not leave his brother alone to die or to be tortured. If they were captured together, they would at least meet their death together. It would save Elrohir the agony of staying behind alone. They wanted to face the end together at least. Elrohir had purposely given up on hope. Hope for a rescue mission, hope to save his brother, to escape. He had given up on life when he gave in to his defeat. He traded life and hope for death, greeting it as an old friend. And she could not blame him for it.

Next to her, Raithon touched her arm softly, his eyes worried. "If you wish, you can leave this task for us to solve."

He was giving her a way out. For a fleeting second she considered it. "No, I owe it to them. I want to fight." she gripped her weapon. "You know my sword's purpose." It was not a question and he nodded. "It is equal to my own purpose."

Raithon nodded. Yes he knew and understood. No more was said and they moved until the grass parted on towards a gruesome sight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Elrohir knew the tales of the origin of the orc race, but staring at the lumpy grey body in front of him he could not believe it. He sat slumped against a large boulder, pain tearing at his limbs and invading his head, burning behind his eyes. His sight still blurry, he tried to focus on the creature standing too close for comfort. Every nerve in his being screamed at him to flee or fight, but his mind knew there was no escape, his weapons gone, his energy drained, he had to stay put and endure whatever was coming. Where is Elladan?

The orc laughed softly, the knees bending at the joints as it lowered itself to his eyesight. The face was ugly, like all other orcs, the teeth rotting and damaged, dark fluid seeping out of its mouth. The stench of its body overwhelmed him, sweat, urine, shit, animals, an overwhelming cocktail, making his stomach churn. The smell inescapable, he tried to breathe shallow through his nostrils. But the lack of oxygen burned his lungs until he had to take a deep breath again, feeling the nausea weakening him. A large hand with yellow dirty nails captured his chin in a rough movement, forcing his face upwards.

What he saw in its gaze, made his blood freeze in his veins. Calculating intelligence radiated from the yellowish dirty eyes. It was assessing him as if he were prey, calculating options and possibilities. There was no empathy there in its muddy depths, only cruelty.

He stared it down, until it grinned at his defiance, releasing his chin with force. He looked around at the makeshift camp, then at the sky, and finally the landscape. Quickly assessing his situation he calculated they had travelled more than a two days ride by horse northwards. It puzzled him to no end, why had they dragged him with them? Why not resort to killing or torture instead?

"Where are you taking me?" His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

The orc that was closest seemed smaller than the others, and laughed softly for some time. Then it said in broken Elvish: "North or course."

Elrohir gritted his teeth at this. "Why?"

"To make you pay, Peredhil." He stared into Elladan's eyes, spitting on the ground. "Too much blood you spilled. The North will destroy you. And your brother." He smiled at the question he saw in his eyes then.

Letting go of his chin the creature yelled without turning to another orc, "Dakgorim! Show him!"

The orc moved aside to free Elrohir's vision towards the fire. Behind it, where the light failed to chase the growing shadows away, another orc grabbed a handful of dark shiny hair, lifting up a familiar head; blood caked half of his face, and a large gash ran from his cheek towards his chin. Elrohir stared silently at his brother, his broken body, his beauty tarnished and a coldness fuelled by anger entered his veins. Elrohir gritted his teeth, his heart screaming silently for his brother. But he knew with a sinking stomach that he was powerless and that this was only the beginning.

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It was too much to take in at once. Rin blinked in horror. Lying on her belly in between green tall grasses, her hands gripping the culms in front of her tightly. Her heart broke when she realised what she was seeing. Despite the pain it caused her, she could not look away, she drank in every detail with a morbid fascination.

Elrohir was held by three orcs, in silence thrashing, his muscles taut, a show of teeth and burning eyes, as wild and feral as the wolf he was compared to. Following his gaze she saw the cause of his rage. On the waterside, four orcs, shouting and laughing, were holding his brother's head under water. A smaller orc laughed and yelled at Elrohir, close to his face. It was enjoying his pain and rage, urging him to give him more of it.

Elrohir focussed his gaze on the orc with effort, seething, pure hatred emanating from his eyes. There was blood on his face, one of his eyes bruised, blood dripping from his arm. He stared at the orc with all the hatred he could muster. He ground out words inaudible to Rin.

The orc just laughed at him, growing in his sick powerplay. "Demands? How long d'you think your precious brother can hold his breath?" Then the creature bent over and licked his cheekbone with vigour. "It is a shame Master wants you unspoiled, or I would have a taste of that white flesh, my pretty."

He signalled to the others and Elladan was hauled out of the water. The brothers gasped for air simultaneously. Elladan was in a bad shape, white as a sheet, coughing up water and blood. They kept him on his knees facing his brother, his chest heaving air with painful force. When he reclaimed his breath, he lifted his head to gaze at his brother.

Their gaze held no emotion nor urgence, it was silent and calm. But Rin knew better. A world of communication was passing between them. Understanding and calm seemed to slowly reach Elrohir and his shoulders lost their tension.

Then the orcs forced Elladan down once again. In horror she watched Elrohir close his eyes, breathing through his nostrils, forcing himself to calm. And in horror she realised that they had accepted their fate, and were content that they would face death and torture at least together. Game over. The 21st century term popped into her brain, like a morbid joke. Detached she watched Elladan's body twitch, and struggle against the weight of grey flesh. Her brain tried desperately to catch up with the horror of it and then, before she knew it, her body was already triggered into action. Like a spring coiled up too long, she jumped up to follow her sword's purpose.

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Vaguely she realised that she was a fool. She had not thought of their chances, nor of Raithon and Aien. But all those thoughts fled her mind when she locked eyes with the silent form of Elladan underneath greyish limbs. A scream tore from her throat while she tried to cut the orc closest her. But her movement was off, her emotions sabotaging the synchrony between body and mind, and the metal of her sword found no resistance but air, throwing her out of balance. She stumbled. A miscalculation, shimatta! To her utter astonishment, the orcs made no move to attack her, but stood there and laughed at her clumsy move. All the while they kept on drowning Elladan.

She froze for a few moments, her katana's point resting on the ground. It felt so strange, as if stuck in a comic book. Move! Save him! Her inner voice screamed at her, but still she did not move. As if in a dream she stared at Elladan's lifeless body, mud caked underneath his belly. Then a sound behind her. Vaguely she realised it was her name. Elrohir! He screamed her name! Something inside her ignited. As if his voice held a magic spell she felt her body move forward with such a speed that it surprised the orcs. A sloppily drawn sword was not fast enough to block her and this time her katana hit home, stabbing through the largest orc's head in one clean cut.

This time the other orcs seemed to take her seriously and when she had pulled her weapon from the bone of their comrade, she had barely time to block another. This one, less bulky, but just as tall, fought like a devil, quick, cunning and skilled. Nothing like the other orcs she had fought. Inside she faltered. What was going on? Was she losing her skills? Or were these orcs just of a different kind?From the corner of her eyes, she saw the pale back of Elladan next to her. Searching inside of her for that bloodred stillness hidden behind that door, she gritted her teeth. She could not lose here!

But still her mind was not free in the fight. Fear was limiting her. Fear that she made another mistake and that the twins would pay the price. In despair she thought of her companions. Raithon and Aien! Where were they! Her opponent suddenly gripped her katana with his free hand, wrenching it out of her hands, making her heart shoot inside her throat. For a split second all seemed lost, but the orc fumbled with the blade, letting it drop in the shallow water and it took a well aimed kick to dislocate his kneecap, to make it fall over with a loud cry. She grabbed frantically in the water, where the metal shine had disappeared. Then the familiar tsuba met her fingers.

Euphoria bubbled inside of her when she lifted her katana from the water. In the momentum of her opponent's crash into the water, she used the window to stab the orc in its other leg as well. When she heard a piercing cry from the creature, she tried to tug on Elladan's lifeless body. An attempt to wrench him from underneath the other orcs' weight. Panic rose inside her. Too heavy! This took her too long! Despair reached for her with its clutches. She had lost him already and she knew it. The two remaining orcs had left Elladan's body, now focusing their attention on Rin, hacking at her with their rusty blades. They were truly alarmed at her skill, concerned for their safety enough, to risk the Elf Lord underneath them to rise. But he did not rise. Despair setting in further, she realised that despite the lack of weight pressing on him, Elladan still was lying face down in the water.

These two orcs were vicious, just like their companions. They seemed well in tune with each other, driving her slowly away from Elladan. Tears blurred her vision. She had failed him. But when all seemed lost and the force of the enemy's blows was hurting her arm more and more, she suddenly felt it. It was as if the air became thicker and pushed against her back. It was an aimless force that lifted her and was accompanied by a familiar cry piercing the air, slicing it apart. Her name was called out, and it seemed to strengthen her. It was Elrohir. Relief flooded her system. Raithon and Aien seemed to have focussed on adding to their numbers, by freeing the most dangerous warrior among them.

She felt his familiar power, realising that it had been missing completely when he was captured. And now it washed over the small battlefield, lifting her, comforting her. For a moment she felt his body heat next to her. With lighting speed he had thrown himself in her battle, and they fell into sync without thinking. Flashing metal, sprays of blood and with two dull thuds the orcs fell before her feet. Elrohir ran towards his brother, kneeling and hauling him out of the water.

But there was no time to see the outcome. More orcs were surrounding them and she had ample time to whirl around and moved to block another attack of a heavy axe falling down upon her. Blocking was useless, she realised, the axe was too heavy. She tried to sidestep it, and the metal fell towards the ground just beside her foot. A sharp command was barked from behind the orc, keeping it from further attacking. Leaving her in a strange vacuum.

It was the small orc that had yelled. The battlefield was a mess. He seemed to be calculating their options and had chosen for retreat. It cursed, spitting on the ground in the sand, the black stain soiling the whiteness of it. His intelligent eyes penetrated the dust filled air like sharp knives. She felt the malice cutting through her. And then he grinned at her. A knowing grimace, and she felt the stirrings of fear.

In broken Westron he yelled: "You cannot escape this, mortal! My spies have told me what it is that you seek. I will make sure that it is destroyed before you reach that stronghold, mark my words!"

She felt her face blanch at his words. It was the last thing she had expected. For him to recognize her, to know her. What on earth? Did he know she was searching for Aragorn? Did he realise the meaning of her search? The importance? Weighing his words she ruled against it. This was just petty powerplay. He wanted to make sure that whatever it was she wanted, was unattainable, broken, dead.

Against better judgement she felt the need to taunt him. "Kutabare! You are on foot, with only a few of your minions. We are on horseback. I think you overestimate your chances." She spit on the ground in turn.

Gorchak laughed out loud, head backwards, leisurely almost. "I have my ways of communicating quickly over vast distances. My servants will be halfway there already."

Wargs, she thought. The wargs were his messengers and spies. She never read about this in the books. That was eerie and very dangerous. They must have spied on the Guard, somehow they managed to overhear her conversations with Tessarion. She could not suppress a cold shiver. It was unnerving to realise how close the animals had managed to come, how close to death they had been. How was it even possible to avoid the Elven guards? She shook her head in disbelief.

He flashed a look towards the twins. "I will see them sooner than you think. And I will taste that white flesh, one way or another." He then turned his gaze towards Rin, eager for a reaction.

But Rin felt a strange calm descend upon her. "I wish to know my enemy. What are you called?"

Intelligent eyes widened for a moment, then small wrinkles surrounded them. "Gorchak. Well met, Shimizu Rin."

She did not feel surprised, only stillness. "Mark my words in turn, Gorchak. I will protect them. You will lose."

He grinned, black spit dripping over his chin. "I will kill you slowly, mortal. And they will watch."

And with this last threat, he disappeared in the thicket, his servants hot on his heels.

A strange sound alerted her and she whipped her head towards it. It came from Elrohir, a guttural inhuman sound produced by pure anguish and despair. Elladan was a pale shape on the ground. And for the first time since the fight she really saw him, the reality of him. His body naked, white chest pale and unmoving. His stillness was unnatural and she knew him to be dead.

Elrohir had transgressed from panic to apathy. He held Elladan's upper body on his lap, the arms flopping awkwardly in the air, staring at his face in silence. He looked defeated. His grief cut through her heart, while she watched him staring at his brother.

She found herself strangely numb, her defenses pulled up in her mind, protecting her from her own emotions. She had been there herself, in that moment in time, encapsulated within pain and agony, when her sister died.

But her detachment made her mind kick into refusal. He could not be dead! Not in this world of magic, fea's and bonds! She pushed down her sword and when the metal hit the bottom of the sheath with a raspy sound, one thought hit home. She was from a world without magic, but with hospitals, doctors! With a flash she was at the devastating scene, pushing Elrohir away. "Move!"

Pressing her shaking hands on his wet chest, she started CPR. The movements were slow and rusty, but the rhythm gave her strength and calmed her mind and she worked his chest as if in a dream.

Time passed. How much, was unclear. His skin underneath her hands felt so cold! Was she too late? She kept massaging his chest, urging him to breathe. She kept on kissing his cold lips, while remembering their warmth, breathing her life force into his lungs. How can you leave him! And then another thought. How can you leave us! The thought was small and almost hidden, but it was there. Don't leave me. Don't leave us.

Nothing happened.

Elrohir sat silently next to her, Raithon's hand on his shoulder. He waited frozen. He knew that this was a technique from her world. But he was unable to comprehend it. He had never seen his father use this. His knuckles white on his knees, he dared not breathe out in fear of disturbing her. Minute after minute dragged on, his fëa in between hope and despair.

He wasn't breathing.

Rin broke the silence with a shrill voice, cutting through them. "Shimatta! You idiot! Breathe! You cannot leave us like this!" Her movements became more harsh and urgent.

"Breathe!" she yelled, hitting his chest.

"Breathe!" she cried while she gave him one final hit in the chest, the tears coming in large gulps.

"Breathe..." she whispered against his lips after breathing into his lungs.

Nothing happened. She failed. Soft hands pulled her away from his body and she let them. She failed. Staring at his white deadly face, she cried, helplessly.

Elrohir hissed suddenly, staring at his brother with sharp eyes. Elladan's mouth twitched and he coughed. They all gasped in relief. He was breathing! Elrohir crawled towards him, helping him up. When he sat straight Elladan puked on the ground next to him, causing Elrohir to cry in relief.

The release of tension caused them all to both laugh and cry at the same time. He lived!

They washed the dirt off his body with hands full of water. But Elrohir did not embrace him yet. He was only staring at Elladan and crying, the full impact of what just happened crashing into him.

Elladan seemed to slowly regain his mind and body. Color rising to his cheeks, his eyes more and more vivid and alert. He watched his brother with a myriad of emotions behind his eyes, until he just pulled him into his chest and enclosed him into a tender hug.

When Elrohir's emotions seemed in control again, Elladan, ignoring the audience, lifted his chin with his fingers and kissed his brother. And as if the kiss held some magic purpose, Rin felt her detachment fall away immediately. Her eyes followed their lips hungrily and she realised that she still felt for them all those things that she felt before, and she knew that she had to guard herself from them, knowing they did not want to reciprocate these feelings.