My Sword Weeps
by Agape4Rivendell
Chapter 30: Trapped
“Let me ‘ave some o’ that.” The voice
came through the fog that encompassed his mind.
‘Who is that?’ Éomund thought wearily. Then his heart stopped
and he
remembered. Somehow, during the Orcs’ meal, he had drifted into
unconsciousness. He had not felt the slash in his calf then, horror
having overtaken him at the abuse of Gorlim’s body, but now, pain and
fire fed from his leg to his scalp. Clenching his teeth, he found he
was still buried under the dead Orc. They had not found him; he had not
moaned as he lay helpless. Or, mayhap any moans of his could have been
mistaken for those of Indis or Théodred.
He put aside any feelings he might have. He could not think of Indis
nor Théodred. He had to make some kind of a plan to get them all
out.
He had been lucky so far, if one would call having a calf slashed by an
Orc blade, buried under a smelly, dead Orc, and listening as a dead
friend is butchered and the unwanted parts of his body used to tie up
the Prince of the Mark and the Lady of Gondor, luck! He felt a laugh
force itself from his gut and squashed it. He could not become
hysterical. He could not.
What was he to do? How was he to save Faramir, Indis and
Théodred? He
closed his eyes for a moment and realized that the grunts and noises
from the Orcs had lessened within the last moments. In fact, off in a
corner, if his hearing proved right, was an Orc sleeping, the heavy
breathing and mind-rending snores of the beast deafening in the
confines of the cave. Éomund wondered that he had not noticed
the
moment he woke up.
“I wants some o’ that wine. Don’t drink it all yerself, ya cur. I found
it in their bags. I wants more.”
The speaker must be Skug for Éomund had not heard that voice
before. He
heard a punch, for nothing could mistake that sound, and then a short
scuffle. Next thing he knew, the body of the Orc above him was pushed
aside by another body. He froze. But he was not noticed. The Orc that
had landed on him stood and attacked the other.
“Stop it!” Vrogak yelled. “Else I beat ye both within an inch of
Saruman’s life. You, Skug, it’s yer turn to watch. I’m sleepin’ now.” A
moment’s brief pause. “I said,” he heard the menace in Vrogak’s voice,
‘it’s yer turn to watch. Now get to the front o’ this cave and watch!”
He heard muttering, loud and furious, but suddenly the cave was
silent as the shuffled footsteps reached the entranceway. He heard a
loud thud and realized the Orc had sat. He dared to open his eyes.
There was an Orc laying on the floor nearby, its back to him. He
watched as the shoulders moved up and down in time with fierce snores.
This one was asleep.
Raising his head every so slowly, slower than he had ever moved in his
entire life, he looked for the other Orc. It was sleeping against the
cave wall, far from the entrance. And, judging by its snores, it too
slept. If Éomund was right, there were four Orcs left after the
battle.
Two slept in front of him, one guarded the door, but where was the
other?
He tried to move, but his calf flared in pain and he shoved his hand
into his mouth to stifle any cry. After a moment to catch his breath,
he raised his head again. Looking past the Orc sleeping in the corner,
he searched the cave, his heart skipping a beat. Where was Indis? Where
was Théodred? And where was Faramir?
A body moved in front of the cave and Éomund quickly closed his
eyes. After a few moments when no other sound was heard, he realized
that the guard by the entrance was walking, probably to stay awake.
Éomund gave it another moment to settle, knowing the creature
would
disobey and sleep, then turned his eyes back into the cave, frantically
looking for his friends and his prince.
At last, in a corner at the very end of the cave, he spotted them. Two
lay propped against the wall; the other, Faramir, lay as last he had
seen him, covered with blankets on the floor. The Orc lay between him
and them. How could he get to them? Should he even try? If he was
discovered, he could do nothing to help them.
‘If I can get away, head towards Calenhad, I can bring back help,’ he
thought wearily. ‘Nay, the Orc spoke of leaving when night comes. I
could not be back in time, even if I could run. This wound will not let
me walk without dragging the leg. We are lost.’
~*~
Erkenbrand’s horse faltered, then stumbled and fell. The Rohir
swiftly jumped away from the falling animal as he had been taught since
a lad. He cried aloud to see his steed lying flat on the road, its eyes
wild with pain. He shook his head as he ran towards it, but the beast,
in the throws of fear, lashed out with its hooves. He stepped back,
trying mightily to calm himself so that he could calm his friend.
Aragorn jumped from his own horse and ran to the injured mare. “Eala!
Hláfdige,” Erkenbrand cried and the horse, finally hearing its
master’s
voice, settled. He knelt next to her and ran his hand down
Hláfdige’s
muzzle, tears soaking the fine mane. The leg was broken; the bone
protruded through the skin. Aragorn passed Erkenbrand his dirk. “Wes
ðu
hal, mín leofe fréond,” Erkenbrand whispered and plunged
the blade
through the heavy, yellow forelock and into his friend’s brain. The
horse shuddered twice and died.
Aragorn put his hand on Erkenbrand’s shoulder as the captain
sobbed. Elrohir and Elladan dismounted, pain writ across their faces.
They stood thus for a long while, giving the Rohir time to grieve. At
last, Aragorn moved forward. “You can ride with me.” He offered the man
his hand.
Erkenbrand looked up. “I will slow you. We are near to Halifirien. I
can stay here and wait for you to send another mount.”
“It is too dangerous as you must know. Orcs are about and in number
from what we can discern. We will slow a bit.” The captain looked
miserable.
“What could have caused her to stumble?” The captain moved back
along the road and soon was cursing loudly. “There are holes dug here –
in the middle of the road. It was Orcs – it must have been. To cause
deadly injury to our mounts.” Another stream of Rohirric curses rent
the air.
Elladan lifted an eyebrow. He had not heard some of those before and
wondered at their meaning. Elrohir put his finger to his mouth. “Do not
ask. Not now,” he whispered. Elladan nodded.
“We cannot ride without you, Captain. We are deep inside the Mark
and should not be here without escort. Thus, the men of the Mark will
kill us before asking questions.”
Erkenbrand nodded. “Aye. That is true. Yet, if we go to the
beacon-hill we lose much time. Better to ride double than turn away
now. The horse I gave you, Estel, is strong. We must be more careful
riding the road, now that we know treachery is afoot. I will ride
behind you.”
Aragorn nodded, mounted and offered his hand. Erkenbrand joined him
and they turned, once again, east. But the sun was near setting and
Aragorn’s heart grew heavier still. They would have to stop again,
before they reached the Mering, and continue on in the morning.
Eala! Hláfdige Alas! Lady….
Wes ðu hal. Be well (be at peace)
mín leofe fréond – my dear friend
