The Ties that Bind by Hoglorfen

Come One, Catch All

”I wonder if little Tambefindil has grown much since last I saw him,” Whindaër said. Theolas smiled as he walked beside the horse. ”I am sure he has, but not beyond recognition. It has only been a few years.”
Whindaër nodded as she braided leaves into the patient horse's mane from her place in the saddle. ”It will be good to see them all again. I have missed them.”
The Elven travellers had left the haven three days earlier. The journey would take them north through the mountains to the city of Ost-In-Edhil where many of their kin dwelled and where Whindaër's aunt had moved with her family some time ago.
Theolas looked up at his niece. ”You seem troubled. Is something wrong?”
”No, I do not think so. I only... have a strange feeling. I had trouble sleeping before we left home.”
”And did the dreams reveal anything?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”Only shadows... Perhaps it is merely anticipation of the journey. I have not been this far away from home before.”
Uncle Theolas gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. ”Fear not, dear niece. We are well guarded, and we will reach your aunt in no time. See, we have stopped. Perhaps it is time to eat?”

Graznikh absently scratched his ear. The piercings had finally stopped itching, but even new habits died hard. Three iron rings in each pointed ear, just like Tarnakh had wanted. Graznikh knew it had been a test, to see if he could face the nails and hammers without flinching, without fear. Graznikh had complied, not because he wanted piercings, but it was another way to get people to stop bitching about how white skin was bad luck. As if he hadn't already proven his worth in each and every raid they'd gone on. His sire Tarnakh had dark grey skin that was almost black in places, but despite being his spawn Graznikh had been spawned with skin so pale it was almost white. The only black on his skin were the veins that could be seen through it on his neck and hands. He kept covering himself with black war paint, but it didn't really help since it wore off with time. One of these days he was going to have it tattooed on. Until then, he'd just have to take the grief the others gave him about it. He leaned back and continued sharpening his blade as the scouts entered the camp with big grins on their faces. He could not hear what they said to Tarnakh, but judging by his pleased expression it was good news.
”Ho, lads!” All heads turned to their chief as he rose, grinning from ear to ear. ”I have a nice little trip for ya tonight. One word: Elves.”
Excited babbling rose from the band. A memory flashed by; soft translucent skin, blue eyes, long dark hair and an unfamiliar burning feeling that had since become very familiar indeed.
”Elf...” he whispered, a wicked little leer slowly spreading on his face.
”This won't be an easy target,” the chief said. ”They're not defenseless, but from what I've heard we've some good loot waitin' for us if we succeed. Keep yer wits about ya and yer knives sharp!”
After a brief discussion over strategy, they set out. Their mark was almost half a day's hard march away but heading in their direction, so there was plenty of time to set the ambush.

The Elven travellers slowly made their way along the base of a steep crumbling cliff. The road had been blocked by one of the rockslides that were common near the pass and so they had left it. A small detour, but the hunters that had scouted ahead said that the area was clear. Still it was slow going, for the ground was riddled with boulders and rocks of varying size. Whindaër doubled over in the saddle as her premonition suddenly intensified. One of the nearby guards gave her a worried look as Theolas tended to her.
”Are you ill, young lady? Should I call for a halt?”
Theolas gave him a reassuring smile. ”I do not believe that to be necessary. She is simply weary; the journey has been a taxing one for one so young.”
”Uncle, please, ask them to stop,” Whindaër whispered. ”Something is going to happen, it is very close!”
Theolas frowned. ”Do you truly believe that is ne-”
The attack was so unexpected that the guards barely had time to react. The Orc raiders plowed through the middle of the group, splitting them in two and throwing all into disarray. Whindaër fell to the ground as her horse panicked and Theolas lost the reins. All was chaos around them. Dazed from the fall, arms and legs shaking with fear, Whindaër could barely get to her feet until Theolas pulled her up. ”Run, Whindaër, we must run!”

Graznikh revelled in the chaos of battle. His knives searched and found unguarded flesh, drawing blood and screams until his ears and vision was filled with them. A movement to the side caught his attention as the battle slowed briefly, and suddenly he found himself staring and the sounds of fighting far away. Soft pale skin, wide blue eyes, long dark hair dancing in the wind... She, she! Graznikh couldn't believe his fortune. He promised himself to cut down the next fellow who claimed pale skin was bad luck. He closed in on his prey with a casual walk, unable to keep the victorious grin from his face.
Whindaër turned her head and locked eyes with the madly grinning Orc approaching her. Suddenly she could not move, could not run, could only stare, transfixed, as the beast came closer. The moment before Graznikh could reach out and claim his prey, something hit him hard from the side as the unarmed Theolas threw himself at him. ”YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER, FILTH!!!”
The Orc roared and grabbed his robe, pulling him close. Theolas spat in his face. Graznikh chuckled, wiped his face and backhanded the Elf. Not hard enough to snap his neck, but almost. Whindaër screamed. He threw the unconscious body aside and looked up, only to see his prey disappear among the rocks. Graznikh leered. So it's a hunt she wants, is it?

Whindaër ran as she had never run before. She darted between the boulders and leapt over rocks and holes in the treacherous ground, silently lamenting the dress and robes that threatened to fell her with every step. She could hear foot steps behind her but she dared not turn to see who they belonged to.
Graznikh enjoyed the chase. His Elf was fast, he gave her that, but she did not have the strength and stamina of a trained warrior. His band had camped in the area for a while so he knew it well, and soon he had herded her into a narrow pass along the remains of a rockslide that he knew was a dead end. She was trapped.

Whindaër was completely exhausted and scared nearly senseless. She kept hearing the Orc's heavy footsteps and rasping breath everywhere and could not tell whether he would appear behind her or in front of her at the next turn. When she thought she could not run another step, the path ended at the foot of a large broken boulder. She desperately searched for escape, a place where she could climb to safety, but to no avail. There was a ledge above her, but no matter how she jumped she could not reach it. She heard a sound from behind and spun to see the red-eyed Orc leering at her from atop a boulder. Drops of sweat slid down his face – he had been running in heavy armour and leather – and the stench alone nearly brought her to her knees. He casually jumped off the boulder and landed with a thud. Then he began closing in slowly, savouring each step, holding his arms out in mockery of a returning lover. His Elf backed up against the rock as he drew one of the long knives he preferred over clumsy swords. She dared not move as he caressed the inside of her thigh with the blunt side of the knife.
”So soft,” he purred. ”I don't even need to use the edge to leave marks.”

At that point Whindaër broke. She could not take it anymore. She inhaled deeply and screamed, a defiant shriek that echoed off the surrounding cliffs.
Graznikh laughed out loud. ”Oh, come on! You can do better than that. Come at me, gimme all ya got!” Whindaër screamed again and Graznikh roared back at her. The sound sent her reeling against the rock wall, teeth clattering and tears sliding down her white cheeks. In Graznikh's eyes, it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
She threw herself at him, screaming, kicking, clawing. He staggered back briefly and dropped the knife in surprise, then stood still with outstretched arms and a big leer while the little Elf attacked him. She managed to scratch his cheek enough to draw blood and kick his armoured shin hard enough to elicit a grunt before he caught her in his arms. Whindaër began crying when she couldn't pull away. The scent of her fear, sweat and skin almost made him dizzy with need, but he reined himself in.
”Why? Why are you doing this to me?! Why do you hurt me so?” Whindaër sobbed. Graznikh snorted and replied in a soft mocking tone.
”Have I hurt ya? I haven't even touched ya! You're the one who keeps runnin' for no reason, who clawed my face so I nearly lost an eye and almost kicked my leg off. You hurt me!” She stopped sobbing and lifted her head to look at him. The hungry look in his eyes turned her insides to ice.
”Please,” she whispered. ”Please do not hurt me...”
”Oh, I won't hurt ya, my little Elf,” he breathed into her face with a mad grin. ”I'll be good to ya, you'll see...” In one smooth move that he had practiced for years he pulled a strip of cloth that he had kept tied around his thigh and wrapped it over her mouth to keep her from screaming. In equal fashion he tied the hands and legs of the panicking Elf. He went to retrieve the knife he had dropped before lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder. ”Ya might wanna keep from kickin' too much, unless you want me to drop ya to your death,” he said calmly as he leapt up to the ledge that Whindaër had not been able to reach earlier. He stopped after a while to look at her when she went silent and found that she had passed out. Better this way, he thought as he took off running toward the mountains.