Title & Chapter Number: Journey From Darkness 8/10
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Tortured Scribes
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
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.
Warnings: None
Betas: Jay Foppins, Hedda, and Robin
Cast: Tolkien's Elves, Glorfindel and Original Elven Characters
Timeline: AU; Pre-Lord of the Rings - The year 3320 of the Second Age
Spoilers: Some for `The Silmarillion' and other Tolkien works.
Summary: One group of the Moriquendi is on the verge of extinction. One lone girl makes a desperate journey to seek help from the Eldar of Imladris.
Notes: Please note that I am changing canon somewhat for the purposes of this story. There is much debate to whether Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Rivendell were one and the same. It seems that Tolkien left notes that they indeed were, so I will bow to the master's wishes and write my tale with that belief firmly in place. The Elvish is a mix of Quenya (High or Court Elvish) and Sindarin (Common Elvish). They are marked with an asterisk (*) and their definitions can be found at the bottom of each chapter.
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 ripped away. 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 filler. 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 and 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 led Elrond 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 passed through 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 Orcs mounted 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.
p "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 the great wheel and the gates slowly opened. The damage to the outside 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 while 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 muddled. 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 suffer under 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.
~*~*~*~
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)~ Next Chapter ~
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