Hurting Tyelpë by elennalore  

Lost in the woods

This second chapter was also written for the Potluck Bingo challenge. My prompt was lost in location of your choice in Putting the HURT in Hurt/Comfort bingo board. I got a diagonal bingo with this one!

The Orcs grasped Celebrimbor by his arms and shoved him out of the wagon. He tumbled down gracelessly, hitting a knee on a rock. It hurt, and Celebrimbor fought to suppress a moan.

“Go!” he heard one of the Orcs utter in a rough voice. “Go!”

They had freed his hands only a moment before, and Celebrimbor quickly removed the band they had used to bind his eyes. His hands were numb and trembling, and it took more time than he liked to open a simple knot. All the time he feared that this was a part of some cruel play, and the Orcs would halt him and punish for disobedience, but they didn’t. When his sight was returned to him, Celebrimbor noticed three grim-looking Orcs around the horse wagon, armed with their usual weapons. Celebrimbor would be no match for them in his weakened condition. They leered at him and laughed at his clumsiness, but they didn’t try to stop him as he started running toward the woods.

“Be gone already!” they shouted behind him. It was night-time, and the forest felt dark and unwelcoming; he didn’t recognise the place where they had set him free. Many times, he stumbled in the darkness but didn’t stop running until he was sure that the Orcs didn’t follow him.

Celebrimbor had escaped, if it could be called escaping – the whole thing tasted too much like Sauron’s experiment. Still, Celebrimbor refused to give up hope. Even though there might be only a tiny chance for success, he needed to try to escape. Perhaps he could at least warn the others before Sauron found him.

The night was cold, and Celebrimbor was barefoot and clothed only in rags. A sharp rock had cut his sole while he ran away from the Orcs, but there was not enough light to see how bad the wound was. An owl hooted nearby, making him jump. There was nothing familiar in this forest, and tall trees hid everything from view – he could only guess where the Orcs had taken him. The situation didn’t look good; he was lost and already started to feel cold.

“This could be the forest close to the mountains,” he spoke to himself, trying to calm himself down. “When the morning comes, I shall see which direction is east.”

Celebrimbor spent the night crouching under low-hanging branches of a fir tree, in a state of stupor that hardly could be called sleep. When he woke up, he didn’t remember where he was at first, and the dim light and foreign smells around him quickened his heartbeat – so different from the dark cellar where Sauron had kept him lately. The events of the previous night finally came back to him, but nothing could relieve his anxiety. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Still, he needed to go on, he couldn’t give up so easily. But where? A part of him wanted to hurry to Lórinand or Lindon and offer his knowledge about Sauron for those who still had a chance to conquer him. He gave up the idea as soon as it occurred, however, for that was just where he had ordered to send the Three Rings – he could not lead Sauron there!

“Is there any hope left for me?” Celebrimbor sighed in despair, hugging himself in his impromptu shelter. He didn’t want to go on, but the light of the morning sun filtered through the fir-branches, and when a ray of light touched his face, it kindled a new hope in his heart, and slowly, he crawled out of his hiding-place.

He made his decision then. “Khazad-dûm is that way, and I know the way in.”

All day, Celebrimbor travelled what he thought was eastward, but the forest was unending, and the trees that grew in that area were old and huge and hid the sun from view. As Sauron’s prisoner, he had got used to being hungry, but thirst threatened to become unbearable. It was a peculiar forest, for he couldn’t find any decent spring or brook there. The branches of trees tried to grasp him as he walked past; it was as if the forest was aware of him, and not in a good way. The place felt almost hostile, and Celebrimbor wished to be away from there already. He missed the safety of his cellar.

The horrible thought made him freeze. No! He did not want to return there! That would be what Sauron wanted.

He arrived at a shallow stream as dusk was falling. Finally, he could quench his thirst, but that relief didn’t last long. There was something wrong with the water – after drinking from it, the thirst came back, more severe than before. Celebrimbor didn’t drink from the stream again; this place was chosen for him by Sauron, and there had to be some cruel spell on the stream, put there to torment him.

That was when he heard the howl of a wolf from a distance. Worse, it was answered, and the second howl came much nearer. Celebrimbor sprang to his feet, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He remembered Sauron’s reputation as Lord of the werewolves, and the memory made him feel sick – he needed to find a safe place to hide.

He started running away from the sound of wolves, already exhausted. As an Elf, he was a quick runner even in his feeble condition, but the wolves were approaching him, nevertheless, as if spurred by Sauron’s evil will. For a long time, it felt, he was hunted in this way. But Celebrimbor’s legs were weak and clumsy, and at last he tripped and fell, twisting his ankle painfully. It appeared that he could only limp now.

Running was out of the question, so Celebrimbor decided to climb up into a tree, hoping that the wolves would pass by without noticing him and lose his scent. He chose a mighty oak whose branches looked promising. The wolves were close now, but with some difficulty he pulled himself onto the lowest branch, a bit out of breath, and ready to continue his climb.

The branch should have endured his weight, it really should have, but perhaps it suffered from tree rot, or perhaps the whole forest was under a curse that hindered his escape, for the branch snapped in two and Celebrimbor fell down.

It hurt, but he had no time to think, for a pack of wolves surrounded him already, baring their teeth and growling at him. They were larger than normal ones and looked bloodthirsty – surely, they served Sauron. There was no way to escape; Celebrimbor cowered in terror on muddy earth where he leaned against the tree trunk. He hid his face with his crossed arms; a desperate moan escaped his mouth. He could only hope that his end would be quick.

The end didn’t come. There was a change in the air, and the howls of the wolves became different – meek and submissive. Celebrimbor dared to open his eyes and peek out from behind his crossed arms.

Annatar – no, Sauron, in his black clothes – stood in front of him. His hand was raised, the gesture revealing the One on his finger. Power radiated from him. He seemed to have perfect control over the wolves who stood around Celebrimbor completely still, their eyes fixed at their master’s hand. With one small flick of the wrist, Sauron could command the beasts to attack if he wanted.

Celebrimbor’s body was trembling in exhaustion. He didn’t even try to get up from the ground where he had fallen.

“Please don’t do it,” he said in a small voice.

Sauron’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “When I set you free, I thought you would lead me to the place where the Rings are kept, but of course you are cleverer than that.”

“Your obsession has dulled your wits,” Celebrimbor mocked. “That was a lousy plan. I hardly know where I am, myself. How can I find any Rings for you?”

The wolves growled and he went silent, not wanting to risk Sauron’s wrath.

Sauron just ignored him and continued: “Then I thought that you would decide to return to your dear city. To me, to complete our work. But Khazad-dûm! I’m disappointed, Tyelpë, very disappointed. Do you really think that the Dwarves would have helped you?”

Celebrimbor shook his head sadly. A nauseating thought occurred to him. He could not let Sauron force him to reveal how the West-gate of Khazad-dûm worked. He had to change the subject, and quickly.

“Please, take me back. Annatar, call your wolves away and take me home. Please.”

“Home?” Sauron echoed, as if the word were foreign to him. “Very well, so be it.”

Sauron gave a command in that harsh language of his own invention Celebrimbor still found oddly fascinating. The wolves retreated back to the shadows of the trees, and suddenly they were alone. Sauron’s eyes never left his. With slow movements, Celebrimbor stood up and briefly thought of fighting back, but he knew he was no match for Sauron.

He had expected a slap or manhandling, but instead, Sauron’s arms were suddenly wide open, welcoming him into an embrace, some kind of a mock affection. To his horror, Celebrimbor stepped forward and let Sauron wrap his arms around him. Sauron smelled of smoke and ashes, and something pungent Celebrimbor could not name – just that it was a familiar smell. He couldn’t pull himself away from it but pressed his head into Sauron’s shoulder, feeling his warmth. He was lost, hopelessly lost.

“Welcome home, Tyelpë,” Sauron whispered into his ear, and although his voice was soft, his grip on Celebrimbor’s body was tight.