Finding Lost Family by chrissystriped

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Chapter Two

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Sharû walked restlessly along the street between the tents his men had been given. He wondered what Mo was doing just now. Had he been able to reconcile with his old master? He hadn’t seen him since they had surrendered to the Valar’s army. They had been ordered not to leave the perimeter, a rope had been spanned to indicate the border. He knew that the former slaves were patrolling – as much to keep them in as to keep other elves out.

Ecthelion had assured them that they wouldn’t be harmed. Sharû had been surprised at that. Yes, they had helped them to escape. Yes, they had tried to treat them decently. But they had still treated them like slaves. He couldn’t believe that it would be forgiven just like that.

A man stood on the road looking at Sharû. He was not one of the former slaves, he was sure of that. He was much too muscular and well-fed – and he wore a beard.

“I’m looking for your commander", he said when Sharû walked up to him.

“That would be General Mormirion, Sir”, Sharû answered. “But in his absence, I’m next in command. Colonel Sharû, at your service.” He bowed. Who was that?

“I’m Aule.” The Vala nodded at him and chuckled at the look on his face. “You might have heard of me.”

“Of course, herdir.” Sharû went to one knee, although the ground was muddy, and bowed his head.

“Stand up, Colonel. Let’s walk a bit, I want to talk to you.”

Sharû followed him dumbfounded. A Vala, and Mo’s former master at that, wanted to talk to him? He had been in the king’s bodyguard, he had taken orders from him, but he had never talked to him.

“I admit, you are the first orc I’m having a conversation with. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to talk reasonably with your kind. And then you show up at the head of the freed slaves and those elves seem to be astonishingly well-disposed towards you. Ecthelion made it were clear that they won’t tolerate you being treated badly. Why is that? I don’t think they would be so sympathetic if it were only about the escape.”

Sharû shrugged slowly. “I can’t really say.” He laughed helplessly. “They should hate us, after everything we did. We tried to make life easier for them, but we still used our position of power to exploit them. But maybe... Ecthelion... he is alive because two of my men saved him out of a burning building and brought him to Mormirion. He knows that and he knows, too, that we gave a part of our pay to feed them better. Mormirion started it, but we supported him. Maybe elves are simply more forgiving?”

Aule barked a laugh. “I suppose you never had dealings with Feanor.” He stroked his beard and gave him a calculation look. “You say, you used your position of power.”

It wasn't really a question, but Sharû still felt that the Vala expected an answer. Sharû winced, he wasn’t proud of that.

“I know, what we did was wrong. I told myself that again and again, but I’m an orc, suppressing our urges is not our strong suit. After a battle, when the blood is stirred, or simply because a pretty elf is walking by.” Sharû shook his head. “That doesn’t sound favourable, does it?”

Aule was one of the people who would decide over his men’s life or death, Ecthelion’s people could protect them from other elves, but they surely wouldn’t fight the Valar’s judgement. He wished, he could leave a better impression.

“You are honest”, Aule answered. “That’s worth a lot in my eyes.”

Sharû hesitated when he realised that they came closer to the border of their camp. They were prisoners. Sharû and his men had given their word that they wouldn’t try to leave the camp.

“It’s fine. I’m with you.”

“I’m not afraid”, Sharû said. “But I gave my word.”

Aule nodded. “I didn’t want to insinuate that you are afraid. I know that you promised not to try to escape. That’s why I said: ‘I’m with you.’ I want you to come with me. You aren’t breaking your word.”

“As you wish.”

Sharû felt strange when he walked past the two elves who guarded the entrance. They greeted Aule with a bow, Sharû felt like they were watching him, he had lowered his head. He was ashamed of what he had done and he didn’t understand why they were so friendly.

“Sharû!”

He lifted his head when he heard his name. An elf stood beside the road, a radiant smile on his face. He looked like he’d come directly from the woods and... Sharû stopped breathing. Could it be?

“Estel?”, he whispered and the smile on the elf’s face became even wider.

“Elen síla omentielwan, big brother.” Estel hugged him enthusiastically. “I thought I’d never see you again”, he said softly.

Sharû returned the embrace. Estel, his little brother, who had seemed so fragile to him once... he could feel his firm shoulder muscles under his hands.

“Me, too.” Sharû felt tears in his eyes, he couldn’t remember when he’d cried the last time, but he was so happy. His feelings locked up his throat. His breathing became a sob. “How did you find me?”

“I heard someone say your name and hoped it was the same Sharû. Those two”, Estel motioned at the guard, “didn’t want to let me in. They seem to think I’d want you ill. Aule promised to bring you to me. I’ve been standing here a while.”

Sharû looked to Aule who had walked a few paces to give them privacy.

“Thank you”, he croaked and Aule smiled.

“Your brother was very persuasive and, well, I wanted to see your reaction.”

“Because he is an elf? He is my brother.”

Sharû knew that he had a stupid smile on his face, but he couldn’t stop it, he was too happy. He didn’t even care that Aule had used Estel as bait to test his character.

“I risked my life to help him to freedom. My whole family did.” More or less freely, but that wasn’t important.

“How are they?”, Estel asked. He looked worried. He knew that soldiers didn’t live safely.

“Zak and Ithrû are alive, but the others...” Sharû shook his head.

Estel gulped and wiped his eyes. “I... expected something like that. But it still hurts to hear it.”

Sharû squeezed his shoulder. “They knew as well as me that every day could be our last. They were soldiers, that’s our life.” Or had been. The uncertainty about their future was a cold weight in his belly. “When I led you out, I did it in the hope that your life would be a better one.”

“The wood is dangerous too.” Estel smiled wryly. “But yes, I lived a life that wouldn’t have been possible in Angband. You have to meet my family. My son... he has mother’s eyes.”

“Your... your son?” Sharû stared at him. His little brother should be so grown up that he had a son?

Estel grinned at him. “Yes. He is my pride and joy. My wife and me tried a long time.”

Sharû looked up to Estel, he’d been the taller even when he’d been a child.

“Do they know...”

Estel nodded. “I followed your advice. When I was taken by their guards because I stumbled through the wood, they thought I’d escaped from Angband – and that was true. But when I fell in love with my wife... it would have felt wrong to lie to her. A marriage shouldn’t be based on deception. She knows and her family, my family, knows, too. But father thought that the rest of the clan don’t need to know.”

Sharû frowned. He wasn’t sure if he liked Estel calling an elf ‘father’. They’d had a father and he'd loved them. Estel laid his hand on his shoulder.

“I know what you think, but that’s how it is with the Laiquendi. When you marry into a family, you are the child of the parents of your spouse too. It doesn’t mean I forgot our parents – or my siblings.”

“Forgive me, I don’t want to judge something that’s so foreign to me. I suppose, when I heard that you have family... I always wanted you to find your place, that you are happy, but... Maybe I’m a little jealous. You are my little brother.”

Estel laughed. “No one is going to challenge you for that, Sharû. Do you think, we could visit you in the future?”

“If your family really wants to?” Sharû was sceptical. “I’ll talk to Ecthelion so the guard will let you through.”

The elf was visiting him regularly to hear if anything had happened. Most elves were hostile to them, and not all of the slaves they had freed shared Ecthelion's sentiment. Sharû understood that reaction much better than Ecthelion’s.

Sharû turned back to Aule. “Forgive me for not giving due attention, herdir.”

Aule shrugged with a smile. “Family is most important, that’s how it should be. We’ll speak another time.”

“Herdir?”, Sharû called when he turned away. “How is Mormirion?”, he asked hesitantly when Aule looked back at him. He was his friend, he needed to know what had happened to him.

Aule frowned. “Mormirion betrayed me, he will have his punishment. But he is as well as can be expected.”

Sharû wasn’t sure if he could be satisfied with this answer, but who was he to question a Vala? He said goodbye to Estel with another hug and walked back to his tent.

 

 

Ecthelion’s shoulders ached, he had worked the bellows for hours. It went against the grain that he had to help forge weapons and armour for his enemies, but he had learned the hard way that it was foolish to resist. He had tried to refuse to work when he had first come here. The guards had tied him to a post and whipped him until his back was bleeding.

He had been unconscious when they’d untied him, hadn’t noticed how the men he shared a hut with had carried him home. When he had woken, they had fed him with gruel. Food they scrimped and saved for him. That was when he had realised that he would only make it harder for his fellow slaves if he rebelled. He had only the choice to die or comply – he wasn’t ready for death and so he worked, even if it went against his honour.

Honour! Ecthelion huffed. That didn’t matter here, not for elves. He heard agitated voices from one of the alleys and quickened his step despite his exhaustion. Ecthelion started to run when he saw that one of the huts had collapsed. A few elves were already busy clearing away the broken boards, a woman was held back by two others.

“My child!”, she sobbed. “My girl!”

Ecthelion looked at the pile of rubble surrounded by a cloud of dust. If her daughter had been in there... there was little hope that she still lived. Ecthelion accepted a beam that was handed down to him, his muscles protesting painfully, and looked around. Other elves were coming to help, but it didn’t seem as if someone was organising them.

The beam he was holding looked good enough to use again. He put him aside, the beginning of a pile that could be used to build a new hut. But first it was important to find the child. “Watch out that nothing slides down”, he called up. “We don’t want to hurt the child!” It was evening, they were all exhausted.

“Let me take a look. I was a builder”, an elf said and climbed carefully on the pile of rubble.

More and more people showed up to help. Ecthelion had surprised this solidarity, they were worked to complete exhaustion, but if someone needed help, they didn’t even need to ask. Ecthelion nodded at the builder and separated the helpers into groups.

He stopped when five orcs walked over. Usually they allowed them to manage things like this themselves, but who could know what was going on in their heads.

“We are here to help.” The orc’s voice was dark and a little rough, but he sounded friendly. “We are off duty and you seem like you could use a few hands more.”

Ecthelion hesitated for a moment. He mustn’t give them orders, or anything that might sound like it. He didn’t want to be punished for it later.

“Thank you.” Ecthelion forced himself to bow a little. “If two of you could climb up and the others could take the beams, it would be much help for us.” The orcs were simply stronger than them.

They nodded and didn’t seem to be bothered about the glances the other slaves were throwing a them. Ecthelion helped to separate still useable wood from rubble that had to be thrown away. They worked silently, none of them had enough reserves to work and talk at the same time. Ecthelion wiped sweat from his brow and groaned, the remains of the house didn’t seem to grow less.

Suddenly one of the orcs bowed down and seemed to reach into a cavity. The girl’s mother cried out when the orc lifted a dusty child out of the hole. She seemed dazed but Ecthelion didn’t see blood. He smiled when the orc gave the girl to her mother and she hugged the child with tears in his eyes. To his surprise the orc had a smile on his face, too, as if he were happy for her – a slave. Ecthelion shook his head, he hadn’t time to think about that now.

 

He leaned against the wall of a hut that didn’t look much more solid than the one they had just disassembled. The rubble had been carried away, the still useable parts piled in the open area. It was so late that it was almost morning. Ecthelion yawned and closed his eyes for a moment. The thought of having to work in a few hours made him feel faintly sick.

He sniffed, was he hallucinating or did it smell of fresh bread? His mouth was watering. Ecthelion opened his eyes again and winced when he saw the orc standing in front of him, offering a small loaf of bread. He took it warily. Did the orc expect something in return? The bread was still warm and smelled heavenly.

"Today we share our breakfast with you. A gift, no strings attached.”

“Thank you.”

Ecthelion bit into the warm bread and sighed appreciatively. It tasted wonderful and he was so very hungry. The orc nodded at him and turned away. Ecthelion looked around, saw that the helpers were slowly scattering and stumbled to his own bed. He wanted to use the two or three hours before the drums would wake them.

 

Ecthelion woke with the smell of fresh bread in his nose, maybe that was why he had had that dream. He stretched with a groan and rubbed his face, his scars were itching. He shouldn’t scratch, it only made it worse, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He rolled over on his cot and rummaged around his pouch. A healer had given him an ointment against the itching.

When they had come to the camp, their injured had been examined. He had insisted that he didn’t need it, the wounds were long healed and others were more injured from the fights, but the healer had been persistent and the ointment was helping. They had given him his own tent, although room was scarce, but he was Ecthelion of Gondolin – he didn’t like this special treatment either.

He almost had forgotten how it was to be a nobleman. The orcs hadn’t known and for the other slaves he and been an equal. He didn’t want the people he had sweated and bled with suddenly bowing to him. He wasn’t that anymore. Ecthelion stood up and girded his sword. His sword, the weapon Mormirion had given to him, forged by Sauron.

Maybe he should have been repulsed to wear a weapon made by their worst enemy after Morgoth, but that wasn’t what he felt. It was an excellent weapon, perfectly balanced. It really felt like a part of his arm when he used it. It would feel good to spar with someone again who didn’t want him dead. Grief stabbed at his heart when he remembered that most of his friends had probably fallen in Gondolin. Not that he knew anything specific, he hadn’t had time yet to search for survivors.

Ecthelion decided to follow the smell of bread, he was hungry. It was early, but he had gotten used to a daily routine where he got up before the sun (if the sun was visible at all) and although there should always be someone awake in an army, it was still silent between the tents. He knew where the kitchen tent for this part of the camp stood and the smell got stronger when he came closer. His belly rumbled. He knew that he wouldn’t need to go hungry now that he was free, but his instincts were set on getting food.

They were baking over open fire and they probably had been at it for quite a while. Baking bread was women’s work and usually it was lembas when they were travelling, but the loafs that lay cooling on tables were real bread. Ecthelion gulped and lay his hand on his growling belly. One of the women waved at him and smiled. Ecthelion thought he saw pity in her eyes.

“You are one of the... the people saved from Angband, aren’t you?”, she said gently. “Come in. Do you want some bread?”

Ecthelion’s belly was of the opinion that he could have eaten a whole loaf.

“Yes, thank you. I’m Ecthelion”, he introduced himself.

“Oh, I hear about you.” Before he could stop her, she curtseyed to him. “I’m Maksaril, my lord.”

Ecthelion smiled. “I’m not ‘my lord’. Where I come from, birth counts for nothing.”

She looked surprised and Ecthelion wondered what exactly she had heard about him. He had been vain, for good reason as he had thought. And how he had prided himself on his title and closeness to the king. Ecthelions shook his head.

“I’d be much obliged if you could give me some of your bread, Maksaril, but I can wait until breakfast.”

“Nonsense, you don’t have to wait.” She tested the crust of a few loafs before deciding on one and cut off three slices. “Do you want butter?”

“If it is no trouble?”

Ecthelion didn’t want to attract attention, but their conversation had already been noticed by the other bakers and while Maksaril went to get the butter from the tent they dared to come closer.

“Is it really true that orcs helped you to escape?”, one of them asked. Ecthelion nodded.

“You see...”, he said slowly, “they knew that the war was lost and they didn’t want to kill us as they were ordered to do. I think, we owe them a minimum of decency.”

Ecthelion was aware that Sharû and his men would likely have been killed, if they hadn’t protested against that. You didn’t take orcs prisoners, it made no sense, orcs were evil beyond redemption. At least that was the popular belief among elves and he had thought that, too, once.

‘You can’t let your relatives starve', Sharû had said.

Relatives. Ecthelion had never before thought about it that way. Of course he knew how orcs had been made, everyone knew that, but it had been abstract knowledge. Now...

Maksaril brought the butter and Ecthelion dug into his breakfast. He had thought, he knew what hunger was, he had crossed the ice, but they’d had supplies and they had come from Aman. The hunger in Angband had been worse.

“But they are so ugly...”, he heard one of the bakers mumble and looked up.

“And so they have to be evil?” Ecthelion touched his scared cheek and wondered what she might think about him. “Ugliness is no sign for a black heart.”

He had seen Sauron from afar once and the beauty of the Maia had taken his breath away. And he knew comrades who were far more disfigured than him, by torture or accident, but it didn’t change their nature. He took a bite of his bread before he could say something insulting. He knew that most elves tended to equal beauty with goodness.

“So you think they are harmless?” Maksaril frowned. “I think it reckless to let them life in the camp.”

“I believe they won’t risk to anger anyone. They have a sense of right and wrong and they know that there are people who would like to have them killed. We guard them, they don’t leave their camp.”

He didn’t say that he trusted Sharû’s word, that would count little for them.

“But you fought them. They were enemies. My husband was killed by an orc!” One of the women had tears in her eyes and Ecthelion gulped. He had lost so many friends. Yes, why was he ready to forgive what had happened?

“I’m tired of repaying wrong with wrong. This war was awful but Morgoth is a prisoner now, it is over. These orcs saved our lives, it doesn’t undo the wrong they did, but it gives them the right for a second chance. They are different from us, but not that different, they just had a bad king and so often no choice.”

To say it out loud felt good, it was what he believed. The women looked incredulous, but they didn't argue with him and Ecthelion ate his bread in silence and thanked them for it when he left. He knew it would take a lot of effort to change the way the people thought about orcs.