Thuringwethil by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Thuringwethil. - 

  The elf groaned and opened his eyes. The grey afternoon light was much the same, he had not been unconscious for long. He tried to stand, but there was a stabbing pain in his leg, which crumpled under him. He could not walk, his leg was broken and his fellow scouts were gone. The forest was crawling with orcs, and worse; he could hear their foul baying. He tried to kneel, his vision darkened and he fell to the leaf-strewn forest floor. The trees seemed to spin around him although he was lying still.

  Something had hit him from behind, he put a hand up to his head and found a lump on the back. His hand was sticky with dried blood, but the bleeding had stopped. He sat up slowly and stared, there between the trees he could see Lúthien, with a great cloak swirling around her, her dark hair floating around her pale oval face; she had seen him ! His heart filled with relief and joy 'Lúthien !' he cried 'My friend ! In the name of Manwë it is a joy to see you !' She held her finger up to her lips and he nodded, tears filling his eyes. Lúthien knelt beside him and cradled his head in her arms. His tears spilling down his cheeks, he sobbed 'Oh Lúthien, I'm sorry that I despaired...' into her cloak.

  Her hands resting on strange parts of his head, she took a firm grip, baffled but trusting, he blinked up at her. She jerked her arms with astonishing strength and he heard an appalling sound. It was a gristly, crunching snap, and he felt his whole body go numb - she had broken his neck. She dropped him to the ground and snarled, and threw back her cloak, and behold ! It was no cloak, it was the great wingspan of a vampire bat, his eyes had been misled by the foul treachery of the Enemy.

  Almost more painful than the thought that he was about to die was his dismay and disappointment that he would never see a friendly face again. Tears ran down his cheeks but he could not wipe them away. The creature leaned over him, he looked up at its pig-like face, its pointed chin and slavering mouth with four needle-sharp fangs. He braced himself for the bite but it did not come, instead a black axe descended upon his arm, severing it from his body at the shoulder. Though his body was numb, he knew what had happened; his balance was wrong, and he had felt the shock of the blow to the roots of his teeth. He sucked in breath to scream but the vampire thrust a lighted torch on the stump of his arm to cauterize the wound and the smell of his own flesh burning caused him to lose consciousness again.

   When he opened his eyes the creature was lapping at the blood flowing sluggishly from his amputated arm, hunched greedily over it, long tongue flicking in and out. He jerked with revulsion, the vampire looked casually at him, with a feline contempt for a defeated beast of prey. His struggles were over. The vampire held his arm above her head and shook it, it had been drained. She snarled and picked up the axe, the elf cringed internally, his heart pounding with fear and horror, his dry mouth croaked a voiceless denial as the axe came down and severed his other arm.

   To his horror he did not faint, his robust elf body propping up his consciousness to the last gasp. The stench of his blood and skin burning convulsed his stomach, he wondered if his ruined body would let him vomit. The vampire sucked the blood from his other arm like a youngster drinking through a stalk of straw. The sunlit images of his childhood floated before his eyes. Soon he would be in the Halls of Mandos with the rest of the dead, it was time to make peace with himself.

   He had no notion of what that meant, it was the thing to do, that was all he knew. He smiled and looked up at the dark green leaves, hanging idly above him in the still evening air, the thought that he would not see the sunrise choked him, and the tears fell again. The vampire snarled something and began to lick the tears off his face. His skin crawled, sheer horror and revulsion dried his eyes.

  The vampire reached for the axe and hacked off his leg. It took three blows of the axe to sever, and he felt the different textures of his flesh, muscle and bone being sliced through. His stomach churned, his heart pounded in his chest, his nerves screamed their betrayal, his tormented body urging him to move ! to escape the axe and the flaming torch.

   The vampire was pouring the blood from his leg down her throat, her ribbed ears twitching back and forth, the feral eyes half-closed. When the flow dried up, she straightened his leg, and bent it backwards and forwards, it suddenly came to the elf that she was squeezing his leg like a fruit. She held the leg up by the calf, tilted back her animal head and caught the last drops in her vicious mouth. When she threw the leg aside and reached for the axe, his addled mind tried to raise his arms to protest.

  His tears this time were of rage and frustration as much as grief and horror. He wondered furiously how many pieces he would be cut into, and cringed inside.

  The blood from his other leg seemed to sate her. She sat for a long time, glancing at him occasionally, carelessly; his ruined stumps not even long enough to twitch, he lay there, his heart dearkening along with the sky.

   Birds sang in the trees, announcing the successful passage of the day, until deep silence fell. Finally the vampire rose to its full height, sank its hind claws into the flesh on either side of his stomach and lurched into the air with a greak crack! of leathery wings hauling the air aside. His eyes wide with astonished horror, he realized he had been dismembered to lighten the load, her wings still brushed the treetops but she was not gaining height. The elf closed his eyes. He had been resigned to death, but now he was alive, and flying... He thought grimly of dreams he had had of flying, and how he had envied the birds. 

*****************************************************************************************

Chapter End Notes

not for the squeamish.