The Unexpected | LotR Fanfiction

Chapter 64

           

Pain followed me the next few weeks. Throbs and aches and stabbing pains. Ribs screaming at my every breath, eyes swollen almost shut. Thighs that burned from sitting on a warg. Dried blood in my hair, pulling at those strands whenever I tried clearing it.

Glaring sun beat down on me, then the moon's light. Rarely did we rest. Rarely did we stop for more than five hours. I relearned through the painful haze that orcs did not need sleep, well, the same sleep humans need. Like elves.

And then there was the fact that food did not come as often as it needed to come. Already my stomach had eaten itself twice over and my lips were parched to the point of pealing. Moving them in any expression caused them to crack and bleed.

I wanted to reach up and hold onto Mir El, to find comfort in Legolas' Mother's jewel. But my wrists were bound and moving them only made the ropes and chains dig deeper into my raw skin.

Everything seemed to happen through a haze, like a blurry curtain was hung over the journey, making it hard to focus. Between the times I blacked out, I rode hunched and swaying over a pungent warg. The ropes chafed my skin, the chains pinched and clanged into a sound I would always hear. New blood trickled and oozed slowly over the dried, crumbly red gore on my wrists, the ropes digging deeper into my skin with every movement. The commander was true to his word though; Gorthaden and Father's long dagger stayed by my side. Too bad I hadn't decided to sleep with my Thrandies on—they're with Legolas now. In good hands.

During my moment of lucidity, I'd pear blearily through squinted eyes. Everything was too bright. Everything. And every moment was filled with an awful ringing. Yet, over the periods of time, these things began to go away. My ribs began to go from screeching pain to a persistent ache. The blood remained. No rain appeared to shower it away.

One fateful day, a few before we arrived at our destination, 'my' warg rode up beside the commander atop his large horse. During the entire journey, he had been mostly quiet, choosing to ride alone either at the front or back. He did not boast or sneer or jab taunts my way. If anything, he'd insult the orcs. But that was only when they were annoying him. It seemed as if they even disgusted him. The commander seemed very... solemn. But there was a fire burning just underneath. I could see it whenever we did rest, see it in his gaze as he looked out over the landscape. Sometimes that fiery gaze was directed at me.

I had a sneaking suspicion I needed to quiet. Although it filled me with both fear and curiosity.

Weakly, hoarsely, I asked the question. "Who are you?"

As I had kept my eyes fixed on my bloody bound wrists, I felt his gaze on me. Although wargs were about as tall as a man's shoulder, his horse was much taller.

"I am Alagosson."

I closed my eyes.

*********

Mordor was cold.

It was a cold, dry wind that gusted my tangled hair from my face as I awoke from the unconsciousness forced on me. Head aching, I gazed up at the high mountains around me, now easier to do so since the swelling around my eyes had gone down. The dark mountains swelled towards the clouds, rocks abundant while anything resembling green was sparse. I felt walled in, mountains blocking everything behind us and in front... vast nothingness. Empty, all except for some ash floating on a breeze and the most common dust. Dust instead of soil. It was a wonder that anyone could live in this desolate wasteland at all.

As time went on, a few things became apparent. The orcs grew more laxed, more prideful, while Alagosson grew tenser. Orcs took pride in their wasteland but Alagosson... did not feel at home.