I've Hungered for Your Touch by oshun

The Battle

The dust and fetid stench of orc blood and shit assaulted my nostrils and my throat. It was all I could do to keep myself from vomiting or emptying my bowels where I stood. Tears rolled down my cheeks and, for the first time since my late-girlhood, I felt too young and inexperienced to be forced to confront such horror. But my heart steeled with determination and my sword arm stayed steady. I had to remain at the front—visible to my shield-sisters. I swung and parried and slew, until I thought I surely must be spent. But we all kept finding a little more untapped strength to draw upon. We fought like demons.

Not only did the orcs outnumber us—it felt like ten to one at least—but their powerful, squat builds and total disregard for their own lives or limbs put us at an acute disadvantage. After what might have been an eternity, unlikely to have been more than half an hour, the pure sweet notes of Elven horns split the air. Then in the distance, at the tree line, the sun’s rays broke through heavy cloud cover and caught the glitter of polished armor, shining spears, and unsheathed swords held aloft and ready. Clouds drifted over the sun again, but the wind lifted and whipped their scarlet banners, breaking the dullness of a bleak grey sky. The sudden slash of color struck me as a symbol of our change from aching despair into hope. Their mounted warriors, resembling a magnificent force of avenging Valar, thundered out of the forest onto the plain of battle, closing the gap between their forces and the main body of the orc horde with uncanny speed.

For a moment I thought I had suffered a mortal wound and our unexpected saviors were but my dying dream. I came to my senses when I spotted a tall Elf-lord wearing a red-plumed helm. He surged forward, front and center, on a magnificent white battle-horse brandishing his long, shining sword, shouting, “Death! Death to all orcs!” His men thundered, “Death! Death! Death!” In contrast to the melodious peals of the Elven horns with which they had introduced themselves to the battlefield, they attacked with rough terrorizing battle cries, all but drowning out the guttural shouts of the orcs. Their warriors mowed a path through Bauglir’s monstrous minions like a wind-storm sweeping through a field of grain.

On our side, my shield-maidens pushed with renewed vigor against what was no longer a forward-moving force. Revitalized, we pressed one last time with soaring spirits, meeting only remnants of defensive resistance. The orcs fell back, trying to turn and flee, but the Elven knights surrounded them, cutting many down in their tracks. Another phalanx of Elven cavalry—their massive war horses unaffected by the sounds and smells of battle—cut around from the side and pushed the remaining orcs into the Gelion. I recall thinking: if only they had come seven days earlier!

After a one last, intense period—blessedly brief—the near-deafening clamor of swords and shouting diminished; a period of near silence followed. The Elven warriors combed the battlefield, silently delivering death blows to any surviving orcs. The Elves then gently, even tenderly, extracted our wounded or dead, as well as their own few fallen comrades, from the mire and carried them to the front of the field. They turned their eyes not to their own commander, but to me, a small, exhausted woman, as though awaiting my command.

I looked up to our watchers and archers stationed at the top of the palisade and gave the hand sign for the main gates to be opened. Only the soft murmuring of Elven voices or jangle of their horses’ tack interrupted the eerie silence. As the Eldarin knights dismounted, their beautiful horses stood in their places, apparently also waiting for further instructions.

I listened to the great wooden bar across the entry into our stockade being forced out of its notches—a tense moment for me. It had not been fashioned to be moved by young girls. Finally, the huge fortified door, with much creaking and scraping, slowly opened. I nodded to the nearest Elf and he moved forward toward the gate, his fellows following him. Then I heard a gasp and a muffled sob to one side of me. One of my most fearless shield-maidens reached toward an Elf cradling a young man against his body, with all the care of a father carrying his sleeping child. It was the maid’s younger brother, no more than a boy. In normal times, he would have still been training with a wooden sword.

One of tallest Elves swung off his snow white destrier and approached us. He nodded first to my weeping shield sister.

“Take heart, soldier. He’s not dead, only wounded,” he said. “We have reinforcements following us, with healers, wagons of clean water, food, and a good stock of purifying salves and medicinal herbs.”

He glanced up to catch my eye, his subsequent remarks were clearly intended for me as a captain, not simply as reassurance for my comrade. “Our healers’ skills are second to none in all of Arda and they have had experience with your race before. They will arrive within an hour or even less. I promise you that your wounded will be well-cared for.” His voice, although soft and reassuring, held an authoritative tenor, as though he were accustomed to deference.

Turning to the sister of the wounded boy, I said, “Go on. Follow him,” gesturing toward the Elf carrying her brother who had slowed for a moment. I did not need to tell her twice.

I stood, spent and stunned, watching enthralled as the Elf standing before me removed the red-plumed helm from his head. He had looked like a handsome man with his face partially obscured by the helmet. Without it, he was a marvel of masculine beauty. Long black hair, plaited in warrior braids, tumbled out of the gleaming silver, jewel-studded helm. Were it not for his shy smile and his pleasant low voice, he might have resembled a Maiarin warrior come to unexpectedly save us from total annihilation.

Mortified by my humiliating response to the obvious leader of our Elven rescuers, I did what I often did in those days, hid embarrassment behind mild aggression. “You’re late!” I stated.

His eyes widened, but he controlled his features. “My deepest condolences for your losses, my lady. Now that we have arrived, we will do what we can to clear this area of any remaining threats before leaving. We did not realize when we set out that you were under siege, only that the area was swarming with orcs and your people faced the threat of imminent attack. We came prepared not only for battle but for any possible hardship their presence in this area might have caused you. I am deeply sorry that we did not arrive in time to prevent such heavy casualties.”

I tried to hold my chin up, but his kindness in the face of my own lack of courtesy caused my voice to tremble with emotion. “We are much diminished. There are few surviving adult male warriors; you will find mainly women, children, and the elderly or unfit. Our stockade would have fallen today—after daily attacks of more than a week—if you had not arrived when you did. We owe our continued existence to your arrival.”

“I presume you are the captain of these valiant warriors.”

I was a feisty girl in those days and sought to offset insecurity with boldness. I involuntarily jerked my chin up in pride. “I am Haleth, called the Hunter by my people. My father Haldad, our chieftain, perished in battle several days ago, along with my brother Haldar. My people have chosen me as their new leader.”

“Your father was known to us by reputation as a strong and well-regarded chief, respected by all and beholden to none. I’m Caranthir Fëanorion and I hold responsibility for the region of Thargelion. How does one properly address the head of the Haladin people?”

“You may call me Haleth, if I may call you Caranthir.” No way was I going to address him as lord. I knew that I needed in our dire straits far more assistance from him than my people would be eager to accept. However, if the Haladin had a central principle it was that they bent the knee to no one. Any extension of my short tenure as their chieftain would be contingent upon me carrying out the wishes of my people.

“That’s agreeable to me, Haleth.” He gave me a crooked, assessing smirk. To say his grin was disarming is an understatement. Reaching inside his gambeson, he pulled out a golden flask, ostentatiously ornate for a water bottle. He removed the stopper and extended it to me. “Please allow me to offer you a drink. You look as though you need one.”

I accepted it gladly and took a long swallow. It scalded my throat and I choked but managed to swallow it all without spluttering. It burned going down but warmed me instantly, chasing away at least part of my tension and bone-deep exhaustion.

“I thought it was water,” I gasped. A few of the women surrounding me giggled. They had figured out that it was some sort of strong Elven firewater. I might mention here that my shield-sisters and I were very young then.

“I’m sorry, Lady. . . hmm. . . Haleth.” He grinned again. “You just tossed down enough of the finest apricot brandy produced in all of Beleriand to last a large man most of an evening. Did you like it?”

I laughed, for the first time in as long as I could remember. “It’s hard to tell. Maybe next time, I can try less and drink it slower.” The sun broke the heavy cloud-cover revealing a clear blue sky. It seemed a portent of something—survival perhaps? “I’m sorry we have not much to offer in terms of hospitality. But you are welcome to what we have.”

A wave of cheering from the back of Caranthir’s troops drew our eyes toward the dark green of the forest behind them. The first of many large, white-canvas-covered wagons emerged onto the plain. “Supplies! Yay!” shouted a cheeky squire at the Elf-lord’s elbow.

“I think we will able to able to provide for ourselves and lay in a new store of provisions for your depleted fortress. Our scouts who left to look for stragglers will not return empty-handed either. No one will go hungry today.”

Tears filled my eyes. I could feed my starving people—the children had grown so thin, frail, and listless. As though he had read my thoughts he said, “And we have a special way-bread, which will be particularly well-suited to restoring the lack of proper nourishment your children have doubtless suffered. It is hearty in its nutrients, but palatable to the young and easy to digest after periods of deprivation.”

“We have nursing women and a few heavy with. . .” I was unable to finish, thinking of those girls I had grown up with who had already miscarried or feared for their unborn infants.

“Our healers will know what they need. I can do nothing at the moment to assuage your grief or erase the horrors you have endured, but at very least, we can help heal your wounded and restore your people’s physical strength before we leave.”

He looked as though he had more to say, but held back. He seemed to recognize that he was treading close to an invisible diplomatic line that stretched between us as the leaders of two peoples meeting for the first time. He’d doubtless been warned not offer too much nor force Elven solutions upon us. Our prickliness as a people was infamous throughout the clans.

“For all of my people, I will accept your generosity with gratitude.” I almost said ‘we are beholden to you,’ which would have been an most unfortunate choice of vocabulary. My people would not have accepted his assistance on those terms.