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It was pitch-black and close to midnight when the sorry train of prisoners was brought into camp. They were a ragged line of five figures, some bent double, some limping, and all of them with their hands bound behind their backs and sack cloths over their heads. They were of varying sizes, and a casual viewer might notice how not one of the group was tall enough to be fully-grown.
Their orc captors harried their every steps. Two mounted riders circled the line, their wargs snapping their great jaws, frequently leaping forwards as though to gobble up one of the prisoners, held in check at the last moment by a harsh tug of the reigns, or the tip of a spear. The five captives shivered and flinched, and on one occasion a warg came so close to sinking teeth into flesh that one of the Men stumbled and fell. The young boy was hauled unceremoniously to his feet by an orc guard, and was urged forwards once more by the stinging flat of a sword-blade across his back.
Muzg watched their approach with a critical eye. It would seem Uguk had deigned to leave them with something to restock their larder with, this time. Good. The wargs were getting hungry, ankd when they got a little too hungry, they would inevitably turn their wicked eyes towards orcs who were not their riders to satiate their aching, empty bellies, and Muzg could not afford to lose any more of his orcs.
Still, though, five would be enough for now, but Uguk could have taken more. Muzg let him know this as soon as the other orc was in shouting distance.
‘Five?’ he sneered, ‘did these pups cause you trouble, Uguk? There were at least fifty Men in that town.’
‘And now there are five,’ shrugged Uguk, smiling with vicious satisfaction, the jagged gash of his mouth rolling back to reveal sharp yellow teeth.
The orcs who had been left behind for the raid roared their approval, shoving at each other in their haste to steal a glance at the small, huddled group of Men.
Muzg rolled his eyes. ‘Get ‘em inside the cave,’ he commanded, ‘and be quick about it. I’m hungry.’
There was just two Men left from the previous raid, and the both of them were huddled up in the corner of the orc’s cave. Unlike the new captives, their hands were unbound, but they made no move to escape, instead huddling further into the overhang as Muzg stalked forward. The forest had yielded many caves such as the one the orcs were currently set up camp by, and they had extended the shelter it provided by stretching skins and scavenged bits of clothing over the entrance. It stank, but the orcs did not notice, or simply didn’t care.
Gorg, their camp cook, was sharpening his knives near the back of the cave. He stood at the prisoners were shoved unceremoniously at his feet before being carolled and beaten into a rough line, brought to their knees by harsh blows. The two other Men watched from the corner with wide, terrified eyes, clutching at each other for comfort.
Gorg let out a scathing laugh. ‘Nice catch, Uguk.’
‘Next time you want more, you go out on a raid,’ Uguk said, shoving into Gorg. ‘You’re lucky we have five. I could barely keep the wargs in check this time.’
Muzg spat at Uguk’s feet. ‘The blood on your blade says it was you who couldn’t hold back.’
One of the captives whimpered softly, nearly inaudible, but still they received a kick to the stomach.
‘Maybe it was a bit ‘o that, too,’ conceded Uguk unconcernedly.
Muzg let out a hiss between his teeth, looking up and down the line of shivering figures. His good humour was restored a great deal as he contemplated what would come next.
‘Go on then,’ he grinned, ‘take the hoods off. I like seeing their faces right before we gut ‘em.’
Gorg rolled his eyes, ‘I’m telling you, if you cut their throats when they ain’t expecting it, the meat’ll be all tender.’
‘Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? We need a bit o’ entertainment this on this long night. Otherwise we might get bored. Might start looking at those who ain’t been holding their own in battle lately.’
Gorg visibly gulped. To one side, Uguk didn’t even bother to hide his snicker. Instead of rebutting Uguk’s laughter with the elbow in the ribs it so obviously deserved, Gorg settled for a half-hearted sneer, and went to rip off the first hood.
A young boy – no more than twelve at most – was revealed, his face scrunched up in terror. He reeled back from Gorg and cringed as though expecting a blow.
‘Too young,’ snarled Muzg, ‘no meat on ‘im at all. Look at how skinny he is! We’ll be lucky to get a pot full o’ stew from him.’
The next hood was pulled off. A girl, this time, though the orcs could not differentiate genders. She looked to be on the cusp of womanhood. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and she looked around wildly when her sight was returned to her, sagging when her gaze alighted on the boy at her side. She tried to whisper something to him, but was cut off almost immediately by a blow from Gorg. After that she kept her head bowed, her long blonde hair hiding her face.
Another hood. Another boy, as old as the girl.
‘Better,’ Muzag said begrudgingly.
‘You’re going too slow,’ growled Uguk, impatient as ever, shoving past Gorg to rip off the last two hoods in quick succession. A girl was revealed, then a boy. The girl let out a terrified gasp at the sight of her captors, moving as far back as she could, face a frozen rictus of terror.
The last boy remained with his head bowed. Muzag narrowed his eyes at this last prisoner. Had the Man passed out in terror already? He’d hardly give them any game at all.
Uguk bared his teeth. ‘What’s this?’ he said, ‘not afraid, boy? Or are you too busy shitting yerself to look at us?’
The orc reached forwards with a clawed hand to grab a hold of the boy’s curly head of hair, wrenching his head back so that they could see the face of their final prisoner.
A hard, fierce set of eyes stared up at them defiantly. Muzag reared back as though he had been slapped. His throat closed up in fear. He knew that face. Heknew that face-
‘You idiot,’ Muzag spluttered to Uguk, staring, transfixed, at the slight creature before him
‘Who you callin’ an idiot?’
‘You idiot, why did you bring him here-‘
‘Who is he?’
‘Can’t yer see, that’s-‘
But Muzag never had a chance to name his fears, for the captive moved, shifting from static to fluid aggression in the space of a second, one hand clamping down so tightly on the hand that gripped his hair that the bones of the orc’s wrist ground together, his other hand snapping up and around to plunge his dagger up into the underside of Uguk’s jaw, pushing up with such force the tip of the dagger emerged from the top of orc’s head.
Grog floundered, gaping at him. ‘How’d you get your hands-‘
The captive unsheathed the dagger from Uguk’s skull and smoothly sliced through Grog’s neck.
Muzag was not so unprepared, His hand went for his sword, drawing it and meeting the captive’s next slash with a clang of metal. The other orcs and wargs were only just beginning to look up at the commotion – they had assumed that the sounds issued from the cave were merely the protests of the captives before they had been slain. Muzag snapped out a rallying shout to them as he pushed the captive back with the edge of his blade, but the captive spun around, using the momentum to step past Muzag’s guard. His dagger found Muzag’s stomach easily enough.
The captive wrenched Muzag’s sword from his hand as the orc fell. He snapped his head around to the kneeling captives.
‘Arm yourselves,’ he growled, taking one precious moment to sever the eldest girl’s bonds, ‘and when you see your chance to escape, run and don’t look back.’
With these parting words he turned to meet the axe of an orc that had strayed too close, stabbing him in the thigh with his knife. The sound of furious wargs and orcs gnashing their teeth nearly paralysed the newly-freed girl, but her brother was shaking like a leaf beside her, and she found the courage to rise to her feet, take up Grog’s fallen knife, and cut the bonds of the other captives.
‘You heard him,’ she said, voice tremulous, ‘we need to move - on your feet, all of you!’
Fire flared at the mouth of the cave, roaring high as embers tumbled onto the stockpile of wood near the entrance. Their mysterious rescuer was spreading chaos and fear. He had left his sword lodged in the side of a warg, having exchanged for a lit torch, and was using it to set alight anything that he could. He was simply too quick for the orcs, knife flashing out to meet every assault, using cunning and his quick feet to stab at one warg – not deep enough to kill, just enough to wound, so that it turned and bit at the warg standing next to it, their rescuer dancing out of the way just in time. The girl watched all of this with wide eyes through the spreading flames.
‘Eveth,’ said her brother, tugging at her skirts, and she was shaken from her horror.
‘Follow me!’ she said, reaching out to help one of the older captives, slinging her arm around his waist, ‘into the woods!’
They ran for their lives, stumbling through the undergrowth. The sounds of fighting seemed to be one step behind them all of the way, urging them on. Two girls behind Eveth sobbed openly, but they kept moving. They had little choice.
Paws, padding over the forest floor. A warg in hot pursuit. Her little brother clutched at her hand so tightly she feared he would break it. She glanced over her shoulder, and immediately wished she hadn’t. A scream tried to tear its way out of her throat. Two yellow eyes, a gaping mouth ringed with teeth, seconds away from tearing into the stragglers.
A knife impacted into the warg’s neck, stunting its attack. The strange creature that had rescued them was not far behind, following up the dagger with a sword. He retrieved his dagger and shouted at them over the pained growls of the dying warg.
‘Keep moving!’
He had a strange accent, thought Eveth in the odd, self-contained section of her mind that was still functioning free of fear.
They hurried forwards again, their rescuer running alongside them, and he threw watchful glances behind them every dozen or so paces. They had escaped for now, but for how long? He surely could not have killed an entire camp-worth of orcs. Her heart was beating a staccato beat against her chest. Her calves were numb. She was running so quickly she was all but dragging her brother along beside her.
They reached a clearing. They carried on, but their captive did not. She faltered, unsure.
‘Go!’ he said, his strange little face stern and grim. Her eyes flickered to the line of trees behind him. The rest of the camp would be here soon – she could hear them clamouring and screaming, gaining ground far too quickly.
She remained where she was. The rest of the captives had already disappeared through the trees.
He looked to the sky and muttered something that sounded like a curse under his breath. He shifted from foot to foot in apparent impatience. What was he looking for?
‘Go,’ he said again, not even bothering to look back at her this time.
Eveth tested the weight of the knife in her hand. Not so different from the butchers knife her dad had once used. Courage was winning out over her terror, and logic was following on behind. If she did not help their rescuer now, the rest of the freed captives would surely be killed in a matter of minutes. They could not outrun wargs. She extracted her hand from her brother’s and prepared to push him away, into the forest with the others.
But then the strangest thing happened, so strange that her fear-addled mind simple could not process it: a spear fell from the sky, clattering to the ground not far from where he stood. Eveth flinched as it hit, the shock of it running down her spine. Finally,’ he hissed and snatched up the spear.
He turned and smiled at her. ‘Go,’ he said one last time, and she finally obeyed his command.
There were no more wargs threatening their escape. They ran on in a ragged group, their panting breaths letting out little puffs of white air. The forest began to thin out, and Eveth could see the first hints of sunlight straining to reach them through the trees. They burst free of the forest together, and their relief was so staggering, so palpable, that three of them collapsed to the freezing ground.
Eveth’s brother sat down heavily, relinquishing his crushing hold on her hand. Eveth kept the dagger in her other hand, staring into the half-dark between the trees. She could not let herself relax, not yet. She was almost dizzy with adrenaline.
Several long, excruciating minutes passed, then several more. Something rustled in the undergrowth, and she flinched, gasped, and brought the dagger up, ready to defend her brother, but it was their rescuer that emerged from the forest, not some terrible nightmare of a warg. There were dark splashes of orc blood across his face and arms, and his expression was closed-off. Eveth’s mind scrambled for the appropriate response – she wanted to thank him, to express her gratitude, but instead she said, ‘what are you?’
Not a muscle moved in his face. He seemed strangely blank, and at her question he merely shrugged.
Her eyes flickered over his arm, spotting a splash of red blood in amongst the darker shades.
‘You're hurt!’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, and again she took note of the odd way he shaped his words.
‘It’s very deep,’ she insisted, rummaging in her pocket. She laughed a little hysterically when she found that she still had her pocket handkerchief. As dirty as it was, it would do. She put aside the dagger and without waiting for permission took a hold of his arm and bandaged the wound as tightly as she could.
For a few moments, she saw the hardness recede in his eyes, and a flicker of humour passed over his face.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
More questions were on the tip of her tongue. She felt as though they were the only thing keeping the terror and the horror at bay at that moment. But a screech caused her to snatch up the knife again, whirling around to face their attacker.
Her knife promptly fell from her fingers. She stared, astonished, at the eagle sweeping through the air, low over the treetops, the dawn’s light causing the pinion feathers of its wings to glow a shining gold.
‘Eveth!’ said her brother, sounding more like the bright, curious little thing she knew him to be, ‘is that an eagle?’
‘It is,’ she confirmed in a strangled voice. The other freed captives were similarly staring, raising their hands to point, or simply unable to react at all, so exhausted were they.
Their rescuer strode forwards to meet the eagle as it landed. Eveth had to brace herself against the back-draft caused by the eagle’s wings. Her heart was thumping in wonder, now. The eagle was everything and nothing like she had expected.
Long ago, her mother had once whispered to her on dark winter nights, long ago Eru looked down upon this land and saw the good people dying. He saw them preyed upon by foul beasts that had been spat out of the darkest parts of this world. The people were fighting, but the people were losing. Eru saw the goodness in the hearts of those who had been cut down, and he wept for those who were fighting in vain. He stretched out his hands and in his kindness and in his love he scooped up the golden rays of the sun, cupping it in his hands like your or I would hold water. With a whispered song he shaped the light to his will, and rejoiced to see five huge, beautiful eagles spread their wings for the first time, bursting free from his hands, eager to bring justice to the evil that had once plagued these lands.
You must never fear an eagle’s cry, my darling, she had once said, pressing a soft kiss into Eveth’s hair, for they were sent to protect us. And if you are very lucky, one day you might see them for yourself, winging their way across the heavens, dusting the darkening sky with stars.
In the present day, Eveth didn’t feel lucky at all.
Their rescuer was greeting the eagle, brushing his hand against its feathers, whispering words that were said in a tone that - as an older sibling - Eveth recognised only too well. He reached up to haul himself onto the eagle’s back, spear still in hand, and the eagle began to open its wings.
‘Wait!’ cried her brother, ‘who are you? What’s your name?’
Eagle and rescuer turned to them. They have the same eyes, thought Eveth.
‘It’s Bilbo,’ he said, which was really no answer at all, and the eagle spread its wings.
‘Who was that, Eveth?’ her brother whispered into her skirts, staring around her with wide eyes at the creature that they had all assumed was nothing more than a fairytale.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, stroking her free hand through his hair, ‘but I hope he finds some respite soon.’
‘What do you mean?’
She smiled at him, as softly and as genuinely as she could imagine. It took a great deal of effort.
‘It’s nothing, little brother. Put it from your mind. Think instead of a hot bath and a warm bed. That’ll keep you going until we find the nearest village.’
It would be a long journey, most likely, but they were alive, and she would not complain about her aching feet, or the way her little brothers limbs were shaking with exhaustion and lingering fear. The pain and the fear were both proof that they were still alive to feel such things, after all, and she was tremendously grateful for it.
Thank you, she whispered fervently to herself in the privacy of her mind. Thank you, whoever you are. I hope you find peace, one day.