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Wolves And Shattered Shields	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 2426 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse, nor do I write this story for profit.

Chapter List
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They walked swiftly in the unnatural dark. Graznikh took some time to scavenge for necessities – a bashed-up cooking pot that he managed to restore somewhat and a discarded tent with narrow holes in it, as if someone had stabbed it repeatedly. Having seen the chaos that reigned among the grunts of the Black Land, he was convinced that someone probably had. They had no food and the ravaged countryside had been swept clean of everything that used to live there, people and beasts alike. He still had the ghâshpau flask, however. He had recieved it when his band first arrived at the base camp near the Great River; it seemed to be part of the basic gear of all grunts in the army, and after trying a sip he had quickly found out why. It was far more potent than what the dushatari to the north could cook up, and with none of the side effects. At least that's something, he thought as he took a sip after offering it to Whindaër. She seemed to handle ghâshpau much better than he had handled miruvor. He grinned. My little kitten has really become a mountain leopard, claws and all. And now she's tasted blood, too. Wonder what'll happen next?
On the third day after they left the army, Whindaër finally snapped. Graznikh saw her stumble from the corner of his eye, then she let out a shrill, bloodcurdling scream as she hit the ground. There was a strange wavering sensation through the bond, the same he had felt when she reached out to him when they were fighting. Graznikh squatted next to the wailing Elf and placed a hand on her shoulder. ”Hey, we don't have time for this.” He poked her when she did not reply. He became increasingly frustrated as she refused to stop sobbing.
”Is this because I hit ya back there? What would ya have me do, you wouldn't snap outta it!” Should I slap her again, will that help? His hand moved on its own, but before he could bring it down onto her face, that little voice inside him cried out. He stared at his fist. She killed her littermate and I just laughed, he thought. I hit her even though I promised her I'd never do that. And I would've killed her if she hadn't managed to reach me through that bond. I didn't even remember it was there. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He moved to take her in his arms and reached out through the bond. She pushed him away, shoving pain and defiance against him like a shield. Graznikh roared as the red haze of bloodthirst descended upon his mind like a vulture on a fresh carcass. There was no resisting it. He pushed her down and began tugging at her clothes.
Whindaër resisted. ”Graznikh, no! Not now!”
He grabbed her hair as she began to struggle and pulled her close. ”Shut. Up!”
”Stop! Not like this, you will kill me!”
Whindaër tried to kick him between the legs but he slapped her repeatedly until she stopped resisting. She was barely conscious as he flipped her over, tore her armour off and forced himself onto her. She gritted her teeth and her pained sobs only served to intensify the pleasure as he raped her on the scarred ground.

Whindaër felt her fëa beat with the wings of an eagle. There was no holding it back now, it would soon be o-
She gasped as Graznikh's fingers sneaked down to rub her sensitive spot fiercely. Her body responded against her will, washing her with physical pleasure that quickly dulled the pain. He invaded her through the bond, locking her in place and forcing his own sick lust and taint into her being with every hard thrust. This was a violation worse than physical, he forced her to feel the rapist's black pleasure even as he raped her. There was no escape from this. His touch brought her to an intense climax and he buried his fangs into the skin on her back as he came as well, eliciting a cry of pain. Then he collapsed over her.

The red haze slowly faded as Graznikh's heartbeat returned to normal. Whindaër had gone limp in his arms, and the realisation of what he had done hit him like a bucket of icy water. He stared at the blood that streamed down her back and smeared the insides of her thighs. Nar, nar, nar nar nar... Her eyes were dead and unseeing. He tenderly reached through the bond and nearly threw up from fear when he felt the damage he had done.
”Whin, please...” he whimpered as he pulled her lifeless body close. ”Don't die on me, please! I didn't want this, I didn't, I don't know why I hurt you, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry...” He stared at the blackened hills, hoping in vain for some miracle that would bring his âmbal back. When nothing happened, he looked at her again. She was still breathing and her heart still beat, very shallow but it was there. He did not know what death would feel like through the bond, but it did not feel dead. It was a tiny spark of hope, and he desperately clung to it.
”You're not dead, are ya?” he murmured. ”You're just hiding, from me and from the pain and all the rest. Don't worry âmbal, I won't abandon ya. I won't hurt ya again. I can't carry the pain for ya, but I can carry you!”
He carefully washed her wounds and dressed them as best he could. Then he dressed her and placed her armour in the makeshift bag he'd made from the tent. Gently he tied a rope around her hands and knees so that he could carry her on his back without her falling off. It would be tough, but he was not going to abandon her.
It was a dreary walk through the desolate landscape. Graznikh had never seen such destruction. The Orc strongholds in the mountains were practical rather than pretty, but the inhabitants knew that wrecking their surroundings meant losing all the prey that made up their main food source when loot was scarce. This wanton ruin was something he had never encountered before. Every single Orc in that army must've been blinded by that red rage. I wonder if Tarnakh's still among them, or if he fell in the siege? He missed having Whindaër beside him, but at the same time he was glad she that would not have to see the dead lands. Two days later, he found a tiny green sapling in the ash.
”Look Whin, life's returning even after all this. Won't ya come back to me too, hm?” He sighed as there was no reply. The constant churning sky meant that he did not have to stop at dawn. He only took quick sips of ghâshpau whenever he felt himself dozing off, focusing instead on getting as far away from the army as possible.

What was left of Whindaër's sanity huddled in a dark corner of her self, trapped beneath a fog of painful memories and anguish. Every time she moved closer to the surface it all came back, so intense that she could not face it. Sometimes she thought she could hear voices, calm and soothing, but they were only mirages in the fog. And time stood still.
As they passed a low hill on the fourth morning, the sun began to rise, colouring the bottom of the dark clouds a blazing red. The signs of the passing army had faded somewhat; the blackened trail had veered off to the north and Graznikh could see trees and shrubs in the distance. He gently placed Whindaër on the ground with her head propped up on the cooking pot, making sure the sun reached her before hiding in the tent. Then he watched her stir for the first time in four days.
The sun had risen above the edge of the clouds as Whindaër came to. The Bay of Belfalas bathed in a reddish light and her pain had faded to a dull ache, but everything else was shrouded in darkness. You were right, Falastur. I was a liability of the worst kind. Beloved brother, you did not deserve this fate! It would seem that I am our father's daughter after all. He would never admit the sins he committed in the Havens of Sirion, and so the doom of the Kin-Slayers still hangs over us. May your judgement be kinder than mine, for there is no mercy left for me now. She was closing her eyes, ready to give up, when she noticed a small bouquet of flowers upon her chest. They were wilted and some of them were mangled, but they made her smile. Graznikh... A strange chill and weariness seeped into her bones as the memory of his recent actions washed over her. No! I cannot fade, not now! Not yet. She forced herself to roll over and rise on all fours. Quiet footsteps could be heard approaching and Graznikh knelt by her as Whindaër managed to conquer the unearthly weariness and sit up straight. He did not look at her as he made the fire and dressed the two hares he had managed to catch.
They sat in silence, watching the fire. Graznikh kept fidgeting nervously, something Whindaër had never seen him do before. She gently reached out, not through the bond but with her hand, and he twitched as she placed it upon his shoulder. He met her eyes with a haunted look.
”I'm sorry.”
”If you wish.”
He frowned. ”You... you're not angry?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”I cannot be angry with you, endanya. Never you, no matter what you do.”
Graznikh swallowed. He had hoped that she would scream, cry, curse and try to hit him. Anything would be better than the impassiveness she now showed. He turned the hares on their spits. ”I don't know what came over me,” he said quietly. ”Really, I don't. Everything just went red and-”
”I know. It is what made me kill Falastur and Sairion as well.”
Graznikh glanced at her. ”It took you too?”
”Yes. The bond makes me vulnerable, same as you. You said it yourself before the siege – The Dark Lord leads this army. If half of what I have read is true, only Ereinion Gil-galad have any hope of standing against him. Pray that he succeeds, or all will end as the haven did.”
”Speaking of ends... I think the meat's done.” He tried to grin, but it just felt hollow.

”We should try to move inland from here,” Whindaër said after they had finished eating.
”Why?”
”There is a Doriathrin haven ahead, at the mouth of the joint rivers Morthond, Ciris and Ringló. The army came from the north and did not pass here, so there will be Elves there.”
”You can't talk our way past them?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”They are Doriathrin, and hostile to the Noldor. That is why my people built the haven by the Lefnui.”
”So Elves have rival tribes too?”
”In a manner of speaking. My 'tribe', the Noldor, came from beyond the sea in pursuit of a great evil and bathed these shores in blood, both that of our Enemy and that of other Elves. The Sindar and Nandor used to live in Beleriand in the northwest, but the actions of my people caused their home to sink into the sea in a great cataclysm long ago. Some of the Elves in the haven ahead also lived in the now sunken lands, and they have never forgotten our crimes. They call us Kin-Slayers and we are not welcome among them.”
Graznikh listened, enthralled by the story. ”So you were an Elf-killer even before ya went wild back there? I wonder why they seemed so surprised, they should've seen it coming.”
”Not I, I was not yet concieved when it happened. But my father was there, as was my uncle. Theolas threw his sword after that, swearing never to raise it again. My father... refused to atone.”

Graznikh saw Whindaër in a completely new light. The little maiden he had caught and claimed all those years ago had a heritage just as bloody as his own. Is that why this bond of ours formed? Because whatever made it knew we were more alike than our looks showed? That made the bond much easier to live with. He tried to see her as another Orc might, and the sight almost took his breath away. A great Elven warrior with dark hair and armour, eyes that burned like moonlit ice and a razorsharp, bloodstained glaive in her hand.
Then he found her watching him. He grinned. ”If ya ever went to Burzdur, I doubt we'd have a Dark Lord much longer, but a queen. All would love ya and despair.”
”Have you become a poet now?” She gave him a small smile. ”Flowers and poetry. You are changing, endanya.”
”Well, so are you. Âmbal vrâstar,” he grinned.
They turned north until they reached the river Morthond. The passing army had built several bridges which made it easy to cross. After passing it, they followed the mountain range east, passing the other two in similar fashion. At the Ringló ford they found a road.
”This must be the road Bardoc used to take,” Graznikh said. ”If it is, then it'll go east and then south.”
”Who is Bardoc? You have mentioned him before, but I never thought to ask.”
”Oh, just a raider-turned-trader that I used to know. He bought my loot every now and then and we'd take a drink and chat. Haven't seen him in years.” Graznikh shrugged. ”He's probably dead by now.” He smiled at the memory. ”Bardoc was the first I told about us.”
Whindaër stared at him. ”You told a Man about us?”
”He wasn't a tark,” Graznikh protested. ”I don't know what he was, he looked a little funny. But he was alright. And I didn't tell him really, I asked him about some related stuff and he figured it out on his own. He wished us luck.”
”I see.”
They decided to risk the road and soon found it deserted. After a few days' rest in the hilly countryside and taking the time to hunt and forage, they set out again. The road turned south as the land levelled out, passing another river, then turned back east.
”I feel like we're going back and forth all the time,” Graznikh complained.
One night they found themselves standing on the shores of a large river, the largest either of them had ever seen.
”How the fuck 're we supposed to cross that?!” Graznikh exclaimed. ”Build a bridge?”
”Or a boat,” Whindaër said. She was holding some rushes in her hand. ”These are similar to the sedges near Andrast. If we gather enough, I may be able to fashion a raft from them.” She proceeded to gather rushes while Graznikh made camp. Whindaër instructed him in the art of tying bunches of rushes together to form 'logs'. She sewed the makeshift boat together with rush stems while Graznikh used one of his blades as an axe to hew out oars from driftwood. Soon, they could rest and admire their little craft.
It was then that Graznikh felt the bond fade. It was brief, just a moment before it passed. But he gasped and looked at Whindaër.
”What?” she asked.
”You- you didn't notice? You didn't feel anything?”
”I... I feel a little tired.” She became worried as she felt Graznikh's fear. ”What happened?”
”I felt the bond fade,” he whispered. ”Just a little bit, it's back to normal now. It's the same as I felt before, but much stronger.”
Whindaër closed her eyes and swallowed. ”So it begins.” There were tears in her eyes as she opened them.
”Nar,” Graznikh said, clutching her tight. ”You're not going anywhere, I won't let ya. We'll go east, away from all this shit, we'll find a cure, make our own little place in the world, everything'll be just fine!”
Whindaër hugged him back. ”It is a beautiful dream.”
”It's not a dream, it'll happen!” he growled. ”And if ya dare go before it's done I'll take that bloody boat, paddle across the sea and sky, break into the halls of Death and fucking drag ya outta there! And kill every last bastard who dares to stand in my way!”
She laughed a little and made herself comfortable in his arms. They stayed like that until the next sunset.
”Let us hope the wind does not pick up. This is not very stable.”
”Can you swim for us both? I don't know how, and I'll sink like a rock with this on.” Graznikh knocked on his chestplate.
”Then take it off and tie it to the boat. And hold onto me.”
They knelt in the boat and pushed out with the oars. The night was dark and the waters calm and still as they paddled. Tiny lights could be seen in the distance on both shores, probably fishing villages. The river was almost two miles wide above the delta, so they did not reach the opposite shore until late morning. Graznikh cursed the sun and hid in the uncertain shade of the rushes while Whindaër emptied the boat of their meagre belongings.
”I read once that the sun in the southern lands shines so strong that water evaporates as soon as it hits the ground. For that reason, nothing can grow there,” Whindaër said.
”And we're going there. Great. Perfect place for an Orc, I'd wager. The things I do for you, my âmbal...”
Voices rang out across the water and Whindaër dove for cover. They peered out of the sedges as a large ship with mighty sails slowly moved upstream. Graznikh recognised the banner on the sails immediately.
”Tarks,” he growled but Whindaër hushed him.
”That is a Númenorean war ship,” Whindaër whispered. ”Why are they sailing upstream?”
”Probably going to investigate our army,” Graznikh whispered back. ”Or maybe they just wanted to know if the river is deep enough for sailing.”
As the ship passed, another banner was revealed. That of the Eye, the same symbol as the army commanders that sieged the haven had worn on their armours. Whindaër and Graznikh exchanged a confused glance.
"Why would tarks use that flag? They gone daft?"
"I have no clue," Whindaër whispered. "Perhaps the ship is stolen? But those are clearly Men sailing it. No, this makes no sense."

When the ship was well out of view, they climbed the high banks and continued on. There were no trees in sight, but to the east a large dark mountain range towered. Graznikh used the tent as a cloak, but he did not feel well and soon they were forced to stop.
”I can't go on,” he said weakly after throwing up. ”The sun's much stronger here.” He sighed with relief as Whindaër poured river water over his head.
”And yet we cannot stay here,” she said. ”There is no shelter, is someone comes we shall be spotted right away.”
Night had almost fallen when they were found. Whindaër had left Graznikh who was sleeping in the tent to forage for something to eat when a group of Men clad in black and riding black horses approached her. She recognised the symbol they wore instantly; the red Eye, and raised her glaive while they surrounded her.
”<Men! Stand down. There is no need for bloodshed.>” The leader gave Whindaër a kind smile as he dismounted. He speaks fluent Quenya, she thought.
”<My lady,>” he bowed, ”<We have searched far and wide for you. You needn't have feared the road. My master, Tar-Mairon, sends his fondest regards and deepest regrets about what happened to your home. He wishes to extend an invitation to visit his castle in the north, and sent us as an honour guard should you accept.>”
And no doubt as an assassination squad if I do not, she thought. And 'King Excellent', who calls himself that anyway? ”<Tell your master that I am honoured by his invitation and gladly accept it. However, my companion whom I travel with is ill, and->”
”<Yes, I have already sent a few men to take care of him,>” the messenger said. Take care of!? Whindaër grasped the bond in a panic. Graznikh radiated anger and reassurance. He was safe, at least for now.
”<I am afraid I must urge you, my lady. The roads are dangerous at night, and we should travel swiftly.>”
Graznikh hid behind the bank as he saw the Men approach the camp. I hate tarks, he thought. He had bunched the bedroll up underneath a blanket before he hid, and now he watched as the tarks threw a net over both tent and blanket and cursed loudly when they realised ther quarry had eloped. They spread out and began searching the banks of the dried-out river. He leapt up and cut the throat of the first one to approach his hiding place. The man fell off the bank and left a dustcloud as he fell into the ravine. The others came running as they heard the sound, but the night was cloudy and they had no torches. This was a night for Orcs.
As he disarmed the last attacker, he felt the bond steadily grow weaker. They took her, he thought, fury and despair vying for control inside. They took her! He twisted the man's arm until he screamed.
”Where are they taking her?” he growled. The man shook his head and Graznikh slowly began crushing the bones in the man's hand with his fist.
”Where are they taking her?” he repeated.
”No!” he suddenly cried as Graznikh lifted his other hand. ”No more! I will speak!”
”Then speak.”
”Lugburz! They're taking her to Lugburz!”
Graznikh stared at the dark mountains ahead as he slit the man's throat. Lugburz.

NOTES:
Endanya - My heart
Âmbal vrâstar - Sweet murderer

Also: Let's play "spot the distorted LotR quotes"! :D
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Wolves And Shattered Shields