Chapter 1: The Escape of Finrod From the Orks

I lay weak in my cell. The Orks kept me nearly starving for years in the their prison but lately they had been feeding me better, for some reason. I ate their coarse bread but never the meat. You never knew what it might be.

I had adjusted to the almost continual darkness and I could see as well as they could without light, I was sure of it. By now my eyes were nearly as sensitive as theirs to light of any kind but I could at least see around me. I had been stripped of everything I had worn long ago but had adapted to the stone underworld of these creatures that had once been elves, themselves, but now were the lowest form of human beings in Middle Earth, Black Orks. Foul skinned cannibals, marauding killers but slow of wit and for the most part, brainless idiots. I waited for what I thought was the inevitability of my death. Why they had kept me alive this long was a mystery. Orks are known to be depraved beings, twisted and brutal, but predictable. Something was going on past my knowledge of my stone cell and bars.

With the addition to more and better food, I had begun to exercise, little by little building up a bit of strength so that if by chance I got out of their dungeon, I’d have strength to walk a fair distance and hold myself upright.

A short time later, I was dragged by my hair from the foul cell and tied to a pole of thick wood and taken to a hall of some kind. A large cavern surrounded by crude pillars and deep darkness. Many Orks came to taunt me with sticks or light weapons to poke and torment and though I don’t know how long I was there, I knew I was bleeding from several new cruel wounds.

The hall filled after a time with these beast men and distant torches were lit. I was still hanging from the thick pole like an animal and then a great hooting began. Howells from coarse throats and taunting about Elves, wondering if they at last were putting an end to my misery.

To my complete surprise a small company of elves appeared out of the darkness, men of my wooded homeland, two ranges and three valleys from where I had been captured. They were all known to me but one. He stood by in crude clothing without elvish weaponry. An old man by my accounting. One ancient sword on his hip and a root ended staff.

They stood before Reageth, the local king of this band of mountain Orks, waiting for him to speak.

“You have given us many gifts for your clansman, and I agreed to your coming into my great city, but there is still the final payment for him most of all. You desire him greatly I see, trusting yourselves to my graciousness, and I wish to know why. He is no King’s son, so why the great need for this one pathetic looking elf.”

“He is our countryman, oh king. We greatly value each member of our realm,” spoke Nylin, my brother. “He is kin to us all and we wish him back.”

King Reageth played with his chin hairs, considering the answer.

“May I inspect my kinsman, great king?” he asked. “He looks sick from here.”

The king allowed it, waving a hand. “Watch him closely,” ordered the King. “There will be no Elvish Treachery here.”

My brother stepped up to the dais and stood beside me as I hung from the pole, naked and covered in filth. I could smell his clean clothes, the scented oils of grooming. It was wonderful. A civilized odor. His eyes looked down on me with concern and love.

“He is near death. You gave your word he was well.”

“He is alive,” said the king, looking away. He was not terribly disturbed by my condition or his false words.

My brother pulled a flask from his hip and attempted to give me some liquid, water, I presumed, but was immediately prevented from doing so with spear tips and rusted steel shoved to his face. Howells emitted from excited throats and with both arms spread wide, the King calmed them.

“It is merely water, King Reageth. It can do no harm.”

The King waved a hand, once more, allowing it.

My older brother, Nylin, removed the cap from the flask and offered it to my lips. “Drink deeply Finrod,” he advised. As I did, I understood why. It was an elixir for strengthening a weakened body, used often in the medicine of the elvish folk. I had never sampled it but knew the scent. It was bitter sweet and not too unpleasant to the taste.

“More,” Nylin encouraged, and offered the flask again. As I took my fill I felt it begin to warm me. It made me feel I could run and jump again. It was the most wonderful taste in the world in those dark and dangerous moments.

“Enough,” ordered the king and stomped his foot. “What more do you offer for your kin?”

“It is all outside, as we agreed upon, Oh king. Plus a full talent of elvish gold, as promised.”

Nylin stepped boldly from the dais and went to a companion and took a heavy sack from his arms and shook it over his head. It rattled with coins. The sound of gold. Nylin placed it at the kings feet, opening the cinch. Gold indeed.

The king’s eyes grew wider at the thought of its possession, greedy cruel eyes lusted after the treasure. I had seen this look before in others.

“All things as promised,” continued Nylin. “The thirty cattle are in the woods, King Reageth. Yours for the taking.”

The king groaned, picking up the sack, his lips wet with spittle. He toyed with the gold, running it through his fingers”What else do you offer?” he asked slyly, squinting his eyes. “This bag feels light. I will not stand for elvish trickery in my kingdom. Give all that was bargained for at the last agreement or forfeit all. What else do you offer I say?” This last shouted, spittle spraying out across the dais.

Nylin stared back at the King, knowing, I figured, what was soon to come about but trying one last time. He looked back at his kinsmen of elves, and then back at the king, face blank and determined. “Give any riches you have and lay them at the feet of the king,” he ordered. “We give all to his greatness. We honor you, King Reageth in your mighty hall.”

With that, all the elves took there purses and travel finery to the feet of the king; fine rings and necklaces, family bracelets they wore and gave up all.