Journey From Darkness

Title:



Title:
Journey From Darkness 8/10

 

Author:
Mayetra

 

Disclaimer: All things Tolkien belong to his estate; I
only borrow them on occasion and always return them in good working order. I
write fan fiction solely for my own enjoyment and do not claim any copyright or
ownership of his works nor do I have intent to make financial gain. All
original concepts and characters are from my own twisted plot bunnies and
remain my property.

 

*~*

Chapter Eight: Deliverance

 

Glorfindel drew back the bowstring and then let his arrow
fly. He smiled in satisfaction as it impacted his intended target.

 

For
the last seven hours, the Moriquendi* and their Calaquendi* compatriots had
been fighting a losing battle. Tree after tree was felled by the Orcs and the
stumps rippeay. ay. The giant gaping holes filled with sod from the nearby peat
bogs. The field before them had steadily grown larger and larger.

 

The
dead body of the Orc that Glorfindel killed was rolled into a nearby hole as
fr. Fr. For every Orc that fell to an Elven arrow, two more took their place.

 

Elrond approached Titton on the battlements.
“What is the strength of your force?”

 

Titton
was silent a moment as he quickly calculated their numbers. “One hundred and
twenty in the guard guild, two hundred six sixteen adults work within the
cavern or out in the peat bogs, fifteen adults care for our litters. The
litters have fifty children and infants, twenty of them are old enough to fight
or lend a hand in the battle.”

 

Elrond
was shocked at the notion of allowing children to join in the battle, but then
the number of adults were a depressing figure compared to the army they faced.
“Is there any way that a hunting pack could slip past them somehow and lead our
army into the valley?”

 

Titton
shook his head sadly. “They would never make it past the field. The only
entrance to Mar Mordollo* is the front gate.”

 

Elrond
nodded and looked out into the gloom at the Orcs that swarmed the field like
ants. He could only hope that, somehow, Gil-galad managed to lead his army
through the valley and attack the Orcs from behind.

 

There
was a whistling noise and a flaming ball appeared in the dark sky. It arced and
landed in the center of the courtyard, the ceramic bullet shattered and flaming
oil spread throughout the courtyard.

 

Elrond
watched as small children scurried amid the flames and dumped sand on the oil,
snuffing the fire. It tore at his heart that the young should have to face such
hardship and danger.

 

*~*

 

The
Orcs had battered the walls and courtyard for several hours with flaming
bullets from their catapults. The Elven archers had managed to fire flaming
arrows into several of the wooden war machines, but the Orcs snuffed them out
before they could do any serious damage.

 

Then
a lull came in the battle as the Orcs retreated out of arrow range. Faile
leaned against the stone battlement and looked out into the darkness beyond.
Normally, she would have been able to see much further, but her time in the Sun
had changed that. It would be a long time before her eyes readjusted to the
perpetual gloom.

 

She
felt an arm slip around her shoulder and looked up at Glorfindel. “It is
unusual that they have retreated and not pressed their attack. They are up to
something?”

 

Glorfindel
had no answer for her. “Come inside, Pen’tithen*. Unless your eyes have
adjusted quicker than mine, they are useless now. Leave the watch to those
better prepared for it.”

 

Faile
nodded and followed Glorfindel from the battlements. They crossed the
courtyard, which was still being cleared of pottery shards and oily sand. They
entered the fortress and crossed the Warg hall to the one beyond.

 

The
evening meal was just being served and they joined Elrond and his troops at one
of the long tables. Faile’s pack joined them not long after, bring solch* bowls
for both her and Glorfindel.

 

One
of the Forlindon* Elves sipped his stew tentatively; he frowned at the bland
taste and stringy meat. “What manner of stew is this?”

 

Faile
answered without hesitation. “It is made with nâr*.”

 

“What?”
The Elf gasped, pushing the bowl away from him. “I shall not eat this!”

 

Faile’s
pack stiffened and eyed the Elf.

“You
will eat it and be thankful,” Glorfindel ground from between clenched teeth. He
wanted nothing more than to throttle the insolent pup. “These people have
precious little to eat, and you should thank the Valar* that they are willing
to share it with you.”

 

The
guard paled as he realized just how offensive his words were. He reached over
and retrieved his bowl. Without so much as a flicker of distaste, he began to
drink the stew.

 

Faile’s
pack relaxed visibly.

 

They
passed the meal in silence. Afterwards, Faile noticed that Roitar had not
joined them for dinner.

 

“Where
is Roitar? I have never known him to miss a meal,” Faile was suddenly worried.

 

“His
daughter, Sére, was burned during the fighting. He is with her in I Tham uin
Hûl*,” one of the riders replied.

 

Faile
leapt from the table and rushed towards an archway in the back of the hall.
Glorfindel and Elrond hurried after her. They had precious little time to
absorb their surroundings as they raced down the broad hallway. Archways opened
to their left and right and they caught glimpses of small rooms.

 

They
entered another chamber, and the healer in Elrond was immediately repulsed. All
about them lay the wounded and dying from the battle. Filth, gore, and blood
still covered their bodies and their wounds had been cared for in the most
rudimentary ways, most simply seared with a hot knife.

 

Faile
ran to the small pallet her cousin was sitting next to, Glorfindel and Elrond
continuing to follow her.

 

Roitar
looked up, tears streaking down his fair face.

 

Faile
was shocked, because she had never see Roitar cry, not even when his lifemate
was killed. She knew that the news about Sére was not good. “How does she fare,
Cousin?”

 

He
shook his head and looked down on the dirty, pale face of his daughter. She was
naked except for the crude, dirty bandage covering her chest and left arm.
“They say she will leave me before the night ends. At least, her mother will be
there to greet her.”

 

Elrond
knelt by the child and looked at Roitar. “I have some skill in healing. I will
see if she can be saved, if you will allow me to try.”

 

“Yes!
Please, save her if you can,” Roitar’s voice was laced with grief and hope.

 

Elrond
stood and turned to Faile. “Where is your water source?”

 

Faile
frowned, “It is very small. Come, I will show you.”

 

She
lerondrond and Glorfindel back the way they came. Once in the great hall, she
led them through the kitchen archway. In the very back of the cavern, was a
small rough-hewn opening. They passedrougrough it into a long narrow passage.

 

Immediately
to their left was a jumble of hard packed rocks and boulders. Time and weight
had compressed them until it was as solid as an unbroken wall. From the center,
a trickle of water traced its way to a small metal bucket.

 

“Like
I said, it is very small,” Faile said almost apologetically.

 

Glorfindel
approached the wall and began to examine the trickle of water. He placed his
ear gingerly against the wall and listened intently. “I think there is a great
river of water beyond the wall.” He turned and looked down the tunnel. There
was a deep depression that ran down the center. “I believe that at one time
this was an underground waterway. A tributary of a larger water source.”

 

“Do
you think you could restore it?” Elrond asked hopefully.

 

“With
a little time and a lot of effort,” Glorfindel answered him. He looked at
Faile. “Do you think you could gather a work party?”

 

She
nodded.

 

“Until
then, I will need to collect as much fresh water as necessary,” Elrond said.

 

“They
keep a vat in the kitchens.”

 

Thirty
minutes later, Elrond had not only returned to the makeshift hospital with a
large vat of boiling water, but had managed to take complete control of the
healers there.

 

Faile
had gathered a work party for Glorfindel, and soon, they were busy chipping
away at the wall.

 

Faile
spent most of her time running back and forth between the two Elves, gathering
supplies for them and lending a hand, as they needed it.

 

Glorfindel
and the work crew worked well after what would have been sunrise. Twice they
had been pulled from their work to defend the walls. Finally, there was a
cracking noise and a torrent of fresh water burst forth through the hole they
had been tunneling into the wall. It began to fill the depression that ran down
the center of the old riverbed.

 

Elrond
had, also, been successful in his endeavors; Sére had not only survived the
night, but showed signs of rapid improvement.

 

*~*

It
was past the hour of twilight when the Orcsntednted a massive strike against
the walls. Between the catapults and the Orc’s archers, the Elven archers were
hard pressed to stop the onslaught.

 

The
Orcs raised great ladders and began to swarm up the walls. A few managed to
make it to the battlements before the Elves pushed the ladders down. They were
quickly overwhelmed and dispatched, but not before taking a few Elves with
them.

 

“By
the Valar! What is that?” Faile screamed and pointed out into the field.

 

A
large square black shape was being pushed towards the gates. Glorfindel quickly
joined her.

 

“It
is a battering ram, protected by a shield of wood, covered with watered down
hides.” He could not keep the worry from his voice. “It will be hard to stop.”

 

“Oil!”
Faile screamed down into the courtyard. “They think to batter down the gates.”

 

The
courtyard came alive with even more activity as Elves began to carry buckets of
oil up to large iron vats spread out along the wall. They began to fill the two
positioned directly of the gates. Smaller children scrambled up the ladders
carrying peat moss logs.

 

There
was a great boom as the battering ram connected with the gates. It was a
disconcerting sound that filled everyone with dread.

 

Faile
continued to fire arrows while she waited for the oil to boil.

 

Finally,
the oil was ready and they tipped the vats. The oil poured down into holes
burrowed in the battlement and was distributed evenly over the hide-covered
roof of the ram. It beaded up and rolled off the top to the ground below.

 

Faile
and several others began to fire flame arrows, but the water soaked hides
refused to catch fire. Then an idea struck Faile; she fired on at the ground
and was rewarded when the oil burst into flame. It ran along the ground until
it made its way to the underside of the battering ram.

 

The
booming stopped and the sounds of shrieks filled the air. Two Orcs emerged from
beneath the ram completely ablaze. Their companions ignored them, and they soon
dropped to the ground and burned.

 

The
silence did not last for long and, all too soon, the sound of wood impacting
metal resumed.

 

The
battle continued to rage and it looked as if the Orcs would overwhelm the
walls. Glorfindel swung his sword decapitating an Orc that had managed to reach
the top of the wall. He looked around, but there were no more Orcs on the wall.
He paused to catch his breath and looked out into the gloom, the field was
still overrun with the foul beasts of Sauron. Regret filled him as he caught
sight of Faile, firing arrow after arrow in a futile attempt to turn the tide
of battle. He wished they had joined; even it had been hurried affair in a dark
corner.

 

The
clear tone of many trumpets filled the air and Glorfindel felt his heart leap.
“Gil-galad has come!” he yelled out excitedly. He ran towards Faile and touched
her shoulder to gain her attention.

 

“What
is it?” Her face was a mask of dirt, ash and blood.

 

“Gil-galad
advances. Do you not hear the horns?”

 

Faile
listened as the clear tones filled the air again. A feral smile crossed her
face. “Alphas, Gather you packs!” She began to yell, tearing herself away from
Glorfindel, and heading for the ladder to the courtyard. “Cabor* pack to me! We
ride against the Saurihos*, for the army of the Calaquendi’s King has joined
us.”

 

There
was a mass exodus from the walls as the hunting packs began to form in the
courtyard. The holes were quickly filled by reinforcements from the ground
below.

 

Glorfindel
followed Faile from the walls and called for the Forlindon* guards to join him;
of the twenty, only fourteen were left. He watched as the hunting packs mounted
their Wargs. It was a strange sight to see Faile upon the back of one of the
great beasts.

 

The
riders began to yip and howl and their beasts soon joined the fray. The
Forlindon Elves had never seen such a sight and it chilled them. They were
secretly glad that these strange Elves were their allies.

 

The
booming stopped and there was a cry from the walls that the Saurihos had turn
to meet the enemy at their backs. The gatekeeper began to turn greagreat wheel
and the gates slowly opened. The damage to the ide ide soon became
evident. With a great cry, the packs
surged forward and out into the fray, while other Elves moved quickly to pull
the battering ram into the courtyard.

 

Glorfindel
lead the charge of his troops out through the gate, trying to keep an eye on
Faile. Then he was blocking sword blows and killing Orcs, the thought that he
would watch Faile’s back gone in an effort to preserve his own life.

 

For
what seemed an eternity, Faile battled forward with her pack surrounding her.
Her Warg was cut down, and she leapt clear of his body. She continued to press
her attack, as howls burst forth from her lips.

 

Glorfindel
ran his sword through an Orc and used his foot to push the body off his sword.
The sound of Warg song filled the air. He danced clear of a spear thrust e
se
stabbing an Orc to his left.

 

Gil-galad
was in the thick of the fray. He could hear the haunting sound of Warg song
about him; it was beautiful and eerie at the same time. He started to thrust
with his spear as another enemy came into view and managed to stop mid-thrust.
It was Faile.

 

Faile
smiled at the Noldor king before blocking a blow from an Orc’s sword. “You are
late!” She yelled above the din of battle.

 

Gil-galad,
who was impaling another Orc, yelled back. “Our directions were a little
led.led. Seems our guide never arrived.”

 

Faile
laughed.

 

*~*

 

The
rancid smell of burning Orc flesh filled the air as more bodies were added to
the great pyre. The Elves had won the day, but at great cost. Fifty of the
Moriquendi and thirty of the Calaquendi were killed during the battle. Their
bodies were buried with pomp and ceremony on the edge of the battlefield.

 

Glorfindel
found Faile helping Elrond with the wounded. He had been overwhelmed with joy
when she found him after the battle. He had been searching frantically for her.
She had escaped unharmed except for a few minor cuts and bruises.

 

“Pen’tithen,
Gil-galad would speak with you in the great hall,” he said softly.

 

Faile
nodded and rose to follow him.

 

They
walked down the hallway between the two rooms in silence. No words were
necessary between them; the simple act of holding hands spoke volumes.

 

They
found Gil-galad seated at one of the long tables, looking weary.

 

“You
wished to speak with me?” Faile took a seat opposite him.

 

“Your
King fell in battle. What will your people do now?” he asked quietly.

 

“A
contest of skills will be held, and the winner will lead us.” Faile paused a
moment. “ I fear the outcome of this contest, for Toron will most likely be the
victor.”

 

Gil-galad
seemed to understand. “He will not be so ready to lead his people from this
place.”

 

Faile
nodded. She looked around to make sure that no one would overhear what she was
about to say. Leaning close to Gil-galad, she whispered. “He is cruel and I
fear my people will suffeder der his reign.”

 

“Can
any make the challenge for leadership?” Glorfindel asked, catching the look
that crossed Gil-galad’s face.

 

Faile
thought for a moment. “Yes. There is no ban, other than one must be of age.”

 

Gil-galad
smiled for the first time since the battle ended.

End
Chapter Eight

Moriquendi
– Dark Elves: Name given to the Elves that never saw the Light of the Two Trees
(Quenya)

Calaquendi
– Light Elves: Name given to the Elves that saw the Light of the Two Trees
(Quenya)

Mar
Mordollo – Home out of Shadow (Quenya)

Pen’tithen
– Little One (Sindarin)

solch
– edible root (Sindarin)

nâr
– rat (Sindarin)

Valar
– The fourteen greatest of the Ainur

I
Tham uin Hûl – (Sindarin) The Hall of Screams

cabor
– frog (Sindarin)

Saurihos
– Foul Folk (Quenya)