Unforgivable: Chapter Eleven
May. 19th, 2010 08:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhie*huggles to all commentators* I need to respond yet, but I had to decide between that and next part, and figured, y'all might like the next part slightly more... enjoy!
Chapter Eleven
Seasons changed, and months passed by. They were now in the final days before winter. The leaves were strewn over the brown grass, and the bare, skeletal branches of the trees were no longer fit to provide shelter to the few birds that had not flown away or been eaten by the orcs since their arrival. Few of the crops had been harvested; many of them had become weedy over the past few months. Tobacco and potatoes had been the only two which had been of interest to the orcs – the former for their own personal reasons, and the latter, guessed Erestor, to the grimy nature of the ones who had taken to dwelling in the slums of the valley. Potatoes seemed a fit food for them, though the real reason was it was one of the few items the orcs knew how to turn into liquor.
Because the orcs had no desire to do anything with the remaining farmland, Thrangorn and Eliel had conspired to convince Verdev that they should be allowed to gather some things, so as not to be a burden on the orcs.
“We promise not to be in the way,” cooed Eliel as she massaged Verdev’s massive shoulders one day when he came to visit. He had taken up his usual position in the largest chair; none of the elves dared to sit in it after he had the day he showed up with their ‘gifts’.
Thrangorn was sitting on the floor next to Verdev’s legs, holding a tray for the master’s bowl of wine. Grey, gnarled fingers were rested upon the butler’s head and stroked back the silken hair occasionally, but Thrangorn tried not to let that bother him. “Let the cats hunt for mice, master. It will keep us out of trouble.”
When Verdev agreed, it was under the condition that they would still need to be barefooted as he required them to be in the house, a measure that had indeed lessened the chance of escape, and that Erestor and Anglin remain constantly within his sight. Anglin initially offered to stay home, but the temptation to see what might be in the fields proved too great the next day when Verdev came to retrieve them. He brought guards with him; one for each of his elven souvenirs. Erestor found he was watched closest by the biggest and meanest looking orc of the bunch, Aphasus, as always, as they made the journey across Gondolin to the farms on the outskirts of the city.
Eliel had gathered as many baskets as she could find, and weaved two more from scraps. There were also some small sacks for carrying more delicate items, and lunch packed into a box that Ardinir offered to carry. Erestor had a blanket tucked under one arm, and three or four baskets swinging from his other hand. Verdev continuously requested songs to be sung by Erestor, so that by the time they reached the fields, all of his favorites had been sung twice and Erestor was beginning to change lyrics when he could to keep the vocals interesting.
“Do you know any songs about farming?” asked Verdev when they reached the field.
“I know songs that I sang when I was farming sometimes,” said Erestor. “Actually, I know a children’s song about farming, but I doubt that would amuse you.”
“It might amuse me, but I doubt I want to hear it.” Verdev waited until the blanket was spread out for him, and then sat down in the thick of the patch of squashes and pumpkins they came to first. “What songs do you know of the Valar?”
The other orcs looked uncomfortable at this. A few of them even cringed. Erestor tried not to look too shocked himself. “I know of a few.”
“Sing them to me.” Verdev gave his command with the air of a king, and he opened the book he brought with him that day.
Erestor did as instructed. He was fairly certain that Verdev was not really all that interested in what he was singing – he was even uncertain that the orc was actually reading the book he had -- but by making Erestor sing he had to concentrate on the notes and the lyrics enough that his mind could not readily wander to plans of escaping (as they otherwise would have). He and the others each set off in different directions, scouting the area for food that was not yet spoiled, and gathering what they could find.
The path that Erestor took was straight along an aisle of pumpkins. Most of them were gnawed upon or had large holes in the sides from rodents. He was not entirely upset by this; pumpkin was one of his least favorite items to eat. He kicked them aside and as he wandered further he sang quieter, and then hummed, and then eventually took to only singing a few words here and there to give Verdev the impression he still was.
To his dismay, there were some pumpkins that were not overly ripe that no rodents had yet found. He harvested a trio of them and set them in a row away from the mauled and rotted ones still clinging to the vines. Then, something quite unusual caught his eye.
Freshly cut lines were visible on a very large, very orange pumpkin that otherwise looked generally in good condition. Erestor approached it slowly, and turned it with his foot when he noted that the lines were tengwar. He looked around, and saw Eliel was closest to him. “Eliel,” he hissed after glancing back to check on the orcs. They were gathered together, keeping an eye on the elves, but not being overly watchful. “Eliel, I need you to look at something,” he whispered once he gained her attention.
The elleth looked around, and then carefully climbed through the unruly vines to reach the spot where Erestor was standing. Anglin had not been far away, and he, too, sidestepped over to where they were standing.
On the ground at their feet sat the pumpkin, skin peeling back where the words were written. And what was written was:
BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE SON OF FELAGUND
Erestor bent down and picked it up. The words were as clear as they had been, with no others on any other part of it. “These look recent.”
“Probably a day or two,” remarked Anglin. “I know of no other son of Finrod, save for my cousin Inglorion.”
“Neither do I,” admitted Erestor. He scanned the field, and looked for some other sign of their suspected messenger, but there was none.
“Hey!”
The trio shuffled around as one of the orcs began to walk toward them. “What are you doing? No talking! Singing only!”
He was coming at them quickly, and Erestor did the only thing he could think to do, lest the orcs find the message. He slammed the pumpkin into the ground, with the words downward. The seeds and pulp sprayed out, sticking to his and Anglin’s pants, and Eliel’s dress.
Verdev stood up where he was. “Just what is going on now? Bring that one to me,” he demanded as he took hold of his cane to steady himself.
“Not again,” muttered Erestor.
Anglin stepped back. “You sort of brought this one upon yourself.”
“What would you have done?” asked Erestor, but Anglin hopped out of the way now that the orc was nearly upon them.
Aphasus grabbed Erestor’s arm and yanked him back toward Verdev. “Stupid elf. Make mess. Make Verdev mad.”
Erestor stumbled along. “I had to. There was a snake on the ground. It was the only way to kill it.”
“Elf stupid. Kill snake with foot,” insisted Aphasus.
“Great idea. Oh, wait, I have no shoes. Bad idea,” decided Erestor as Aphasus shoved him in front of Verdev.
Verdev studied Erestor for a short while, using his cane to lift the edge of the slimy pants leg. A string of orangey pumpkin gut clung to the end of the cane. “Disgusting.”
“There was a snake.”
“A snake.” Verdev stepped closer and squinted his beady eyes. “What kind of snake?”
“A big one.”
“So, you threw a pumpkin at it.”
“I did.” Erestor concentrated hard on his pulse and breathing, not wanting to give away his fib.
Verdev rested his hands on the curve of the cane. “Did you kill it?”
“No,” Erestor replied.
“Then why did it not strike you?”
“It ran away.”
“It ran away.” Verdev smirked. “Ran away, did he? On two legs, or four?”
Erestor flinched. “It slithered away. That was what I meant – I am not accustomed to being interrogated like this.”
“Get used to it,” suggested Verdev.
All the while as Verdev was speaking, the orcs that he had brought along as part of his guard walked away, one by one. Only Aphasus stood watching the elves in the fields, though Verdev did not notice this during his conversation with Erestor. Erestor, on the other hand began to worry at the sudden change of plans without Verdev’s instruction.
To the east of the squash and pumpkins was a cornfield, grown high and unwieldy in the late autumn. It was into this area that the orcs had gone, and now they emerged, unexpectedly flanking Furog. The captain had his battle armor on, and carried with him a spiked mace and a shield attached to his arm. His helmet gleamed in the sun, and the reflection off of it temporarily blinded Erestor as the group of orcs now charged at Verdev and Aphasus.
Although Verdev had been busily lecturing Erestor, the elf had not paid attention. Now, he made a quick decision, and his battle training kicked in full force. “Aphasus! Behind you!” he shouted, for three of his fellow orcs were running for him. Erestor did not wait to see if Aphasus turned or not. Instead, he lunged forward, took hold of Verdev’s sword, and drew it swiftly from the sheath.
“Aphasus! Kill him! Now!” barked Verdev. He pointed his cane at Erestor as he took a step backwards, and unfortunately for him, closer to Furog’s rage. Luckily, he just happened to have a soldier trained by the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath before him.
Erestor dropped down to the ground, and thrust the sword around Verdev just as Furog came up behind, mace held high in the air. The blade buried itself deep into Furog’s flesh, finding a slight vulnerability in the plates. The orc howled in pain as the sword was yanked out, twisted, and shoved into the abdomen of another orc. This time, Erestor got a good grip on the weapon and used it to disembowel the grim creature.
Aphasus was doing well enough against the three that had come after him. There was another that had been with Furog, but by now Verdev had a better idea of what was going on and was beating that fellow with his cane. It left Erestor to face off against Furog, who took was injured but far from defeated.
“Think you can kill me, do you?” Blood seeped through Furog’s armor, but he was still standing, his mace in one hand and a spear taken from his fallen comrade in the other. Since Erestor was still crouched down, Furog took what advantage he had and kicked the sword from Erestor’s hand, then kicked up dust and dirt with his other foot. The spray of groundcover was flung in Erestor’s direction, and particles caught in his lashes and irritated his eyes. He squinted as he stumbled back and scrambled to stand back up. Once again, dirt was kicked at him, and this time the dust got into his nose and throat. Erestor coughed and crawled backwards over ill-fated crops. He had yet to get to his feet, and he realized that Furog was toying with him. The mace could easily have come down upon him a dozen times already.
Above Erestor, Furog grinned gruesomely. His white teeth were becoming stained with fresh blood. As he raised the mace above his head, he missed the movement to his side. A second later, Verdev had his cane against Furog’s throat, pulling him back against him. “Who sent you?” he snarled as he choked the air from Furog’s lungs.
Furog only laughed sinisterly and fought his way out of the hold, turning to face Verdev. He had dropped the spear from his grasp, but the mace was still deadly in his hands. Before Erestor really had a chance to think, reflexes kicked in. The spear was in his hands, and he thrust it hard at another of the few vulnerabilities in the armor. From the howl that Furog gave, he knew he had found his mark. The mace hit the ground with a thud. Instead of pulling the weapon back, Erestor used what strength he had left to snap off the lower end of the spear.
True target forgotten, Furog stumbled around. “You might kill me, elf,” he spat, blood drooling down his chin, “but I die a free orc. You live an enslaved whore.” And without giving Erestor a chance to respond, Furog grasped his meaty hands together and hit Erestor across the side of the head with them. The elf slumped to the ground, with Furog toppling over beside him.
Chapter Eleven
Seasons changed, and months passed by. They were now in the final days before winter. The leaves were strewn over the brown grass, and the bare, skeletal branches of the trees were no longer fit to provide shelter to the few birds that had not flown away or been eaten by the orcs since their arrival. Few of the crops had been harvested; many of them had become weedy over the past few months. Tobacco and potatoes had been the only two which had been of interest to the orcs – the former for their own personal reasons, and the latter, guessed Erestor, to the grimy nature of the ones who had taken to dwelling in the slums of the valley. Potatoes seemed a fit food for them, though the real reason was it was one of the few items the orcs knew how to turn into liquor.
Because the orcs had no desire to do anything with the remaining farmland, Thrangorn and Eliel had conspired to convince Verdev that they should be allowed to gather some things, so as not to be a burden on the orcs.
“We promise not to be in the way,” cooed Eliel as she massaged Verdev’s massive shoulders one day when he came to visit. He had taken up his usual position in the largest chair; none of the elves dared to sit in it after he had the day he showed up with their ‘gifts’.
Thrangorn was sitting on the floor next to Verdev’s legs, holding a tray for the master’s bowl of wine. Grey, gnarled fingers were rested upon the butler’s head and stroked back the silken hair occasionally, but Thrangorn tried not to let that bother him. “Let the cats hunt for mice, master. It will keep us out of trouble.”
When Verdev agreed, it was under the condition that they would still need to be barefooted as he required them to be in the house, a measure that had indeed lessened the chance of escape, and that Erestor and Anglin remain constantly within his sight. Anglin initially offered to stay home, but the temptation to see what might be in the fields proved too great the next day when Verdev came to retrieve them. He brought guards with him; one for each of his elven souvenirs. Erestor found he was watched closest by the biggest and meanest looking orc of the bunch, Aphasus, as always, as they made the journey across Gondolin to the farms on the outskirts of the city.
Eliel had gathered as many baskets as she could find, and weaved two more from scraps. There were also some small sacks for carrying more delicate items, and lunch packed into a box that Ardinir offered to carry. Erestor had a blanket tucked under one arm, and three or four baskets swinging from his other hand. Verdev continuously requested songs to be sung by Erestor, so that by the time they reached the fields, all of his favorites had been sung twice and Erestor was beginning to change lyrics when he could to keep the vocals interesting.
“Do you know any songs about farming?” asked Verdev when they reached the field.
“I know songs that I sang when I was farming sometimes,” said Erestor. “Actually, I know a children’s song about farming, but I doubt that would amuse you.”
“It might amuse me, but I doubt I want to hear it.” Verdev waited until the blanket was spread out for him, and then sat down in the thick of the patch of squashes and pumpkins they came to first. “What songs do you know of the Valar?”
The other orcs looked uncomfortable at this. A few of them even cringed. Erestor tried not to look too shocked himself. “I know of a few.”
“Sing them to me.” Verdev gave his command with the air of a king, and he opened the book he brought with him that day.
Erestor did as instructed. He was fairly certain that Verdev was not really all that interested in what he was singing – he was even uncertain that the orc was actually reading the book he had -- but by making Erestor sing he had to concentrate on the notes and the lyrics enough that his mind could not readily wander to plans of escaping (as they otherwise would have). He and the others each set off in different directions, scouting the area for food that was not yet spoiled, and gathering what they could find.
The path that Erestor took was straight along an aisle of pumpkins. Most of them were gnawed upon or had large holes in the sides from rodents. He was not entirely upset by this; pumpkin was one of his least favorite items to eat. He kicked them aside and as he wandered further he sang quieter, and then hummed, and then eventually took to only singing a few words here and there to give Verdev the impression he still was.
To his dismay, there were some pumpkins that were not overly ripe that no rodents had yet found. He harvested a trio of them and set them in a row away from the mauled and rotted ones still clinging to the vines. Then, something quite unusual caught his eye.
Freshly cut lines were visible on a very large, very orange pumpkin that otherwise looked generally in good condition. Erestor approached it slowly, and turned it with his foot when he noted that the lines were tengwar. He looked around, and saw Eliel was closest to him. “Eliel,” he hissed after glancing back to check on the orcs. They were gathered together, keeping an eye on the elves, but not being overly watchful. “Eliel, I need you to look at something,” he whispered once he gained her attention.
The elleth looked around, and then carefully climbed through the unruly vines to reach the spot where Erestor was standing. Anglin had not been far away, and he, too, sidestepped over to where they were standing.
On the ground at their feet sat the pumpkin, skin peeling back where the words were written. And what was written was:
BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE SON OF FELAGUND
Erestor bent down and picked it up. The words were as clear as they had been, with no others on any other part of it. “These look recent.”
“Probably a day or two,” remarked Anglin. “I know of no other son of Finrod, save for my cousin Inglorion.”
“Neither do I,” admitted Erestor. He scanned the field, and looked for some other sign of their suspected messenger, but there was none.
“Hey!”
The trio shuffled around as one of the orcs began to walk toward them. “What are you doing? No talking! Singing only!”
He was coming at them quickly, and Erestor did the only thing he could think to do, lest the orcs find the message. He slammed the pumpkin into the ground, with the words downward. The seeds and pulp sprayed out, sticking to his and Anglin’s pants, and Eliel’s dress.
Verdev stood up where he was. “Just what is going on now? Bring that one to me,” he demanded as he took hold of his cane to steady himself.
“Not again,” muttered Erestor.
Anglin stepped back. “You sort of brought this one upon yourself.”
“What would you have done?” asked Erestor, but Anglin hopped out of the way now that the orc was nearly upon them.
Aphasus grabbed Erestor’s arm and yanked him back toward Verdev. “Stupid elf. Make mess. Make Verdev mad.”
Erestor stumbled along. “I had to. There was a snake on the ground. It was the only way to kill it.”
“Elf stupid. Kill snake with foot,” insisted Aphasus.
“Great idea. Oh, wait, I have no shoes. Bad idea,” decided Erestor as Aphasus shoved him in front of Verdev.
Verdev studied Erestor for a short while, using his cane to lift the edge of the slimy pants leg. A string of orangey pumpkin gut clung to the end of the cane. “Disgusting.”
“There was a snake.”
“A snake.” Verdev stepped closer and squinted his beady eyes. “What kind of snake?”
“A big one.”
“So, you threw a pumpkin at it.”
“I did.” Erestor concentrated hard on his pulse and breathing, not wanting to give away his fib.
Verdev rested his hands on the curve of the cane. “Did you kill it?”
“No,” Erestor replied.
“Then why did it not strike you?”
“It ran away.”
“It ran away.” Verdev smirked. “Ran away, did he? On two legs, or four?”
Erestor flinched. “It slithered away. That was what I meant – I am not accustomed to being interrogated like this.”
“Get used to it,” suggested Verdev.
All the while as Verdev was speaking, the orcs that he had brought along as part of his guard walked away, one by one. Only Aphasus stood watching the elves in the fields, though Verdev did not notice this during his conversation with Erestor. Erestor, on the other hand began to worry at the sudden change of plans without Verdev’s instruction.
To the east of the squash and pumpkins was a cornfield, grown high and unwieldy in the late autumn. It was into this area that the orcs had gone, and now they emerged, unexpectedly flanking Furog. The captain had his battle armor on, and carried with him a spiked mace and a shield attached to his arm. His helmet gleamed in the sun, and the reflection off of it temporarily blinded Erestor as the group of orcs now charged at Verdev and Aphasus.
Although Verdev had been busily lecturing Erestor, the elf had not paid attention. Now, he made a quick decision, and his battle training kicked in full force. “Aphasus! Behind you!” he shouted, for three of his fellow orcs were running for him. Erestor did not wait to see if Aphasus turned or not. Instead, he lunged forward, took hold of Verdev’s sword, and drew it swiftly from the sheath.
“Aphasus! Kill him! Now!” barked Verdev. He pointed his cane at Erestor as he took a step backwards, and unfortunately for him, closer to Furog’s rage. Luckily, he just happened to have a soldier trained by the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath before him.
Erestor dropped down to the ground, and thrust the sword around Verdev just as Furog came up behind, mace held high in the air. The blade buried itself deep into Furog’s flesh, finding a slight vulnerability in the plates. The orc howled in pain as the sword was yanked out, twisted, and shoved into the abdomen of another orc. This time, Erestor got a good grip on the weapon and used it to disembowel the grim creature.
Aphasus was doing well enough against the three that had come after him. There was another that had been with Furog, but by now Verdev had a better idea of what was going on and was beating that fellow with his cane. It left Erestor to face off against Furog, who took was injured but far from defeated.
“Think you can kill me, do you?” Blood seeped through Furog’s armor, but he was still standing, his mace in one hand and a spear taken from his fallen comrade in the other. Since Erestor was still crouched down, Furog took what advantage he had and kicked the sword from Erestor’s hand, then kicked up dust and dirt with his other foot. The spray of groundcover was flung in Erestor’s direction, and particles caught in his lashes and irritated his eyes. He squinted as he stumbled back and scrambled to stand back up. Once again, dirt was kicked at him, and this time the dust got into his nose and throat. Erestor coughed and crawled backwards over ill-fated crops. He had yet to get to his feet, and he realized that Furog was toying with him. The mace could easily have come down upon him a dozen times already.
Above Erestor, Furog grinned gruesomely. His white teeth were becoming stained with fresh blood. As he raised the mace above his head, he missed the movement to his side. A second later, Verdev had his cane against Furog’s throat, pulling him back against him. “Who sent you?” he snarled as he choked the air from Furog’s lungs.
Furog only laughed sinisterly and fought his way out of the hold, turning to face Verdev. He had dropped the spear from his grasp, but the mace was still deadly in his hands. Before Erestor really had a chance to think, reflexes kicked in. The spear was in his hands, and he thrust it hard at another of the few vulnerabilities in the armor. From the howl that Furog gave, he knew he had found his mark. The mace hit the ground with a thud. Instead of pulling the weapon back, Erestor used what strength he had left to snap off the lower end of the spear.
True target forgotten, Furog stumbled around. “You might kill me, elf,” he spat, blood drooling down his chin, “but I die a free orc. You live an enslaved whore.” And without giving Erestor a chance to respond, Furog grasped his meaty hands together and hit Erestor across the side of the head with them. The elf slumped to the ground, with Furog toppling over beside him.
