- Chapter Four -
For nearly two weeks, Erestor patiently waited. Most of the time while he was inside, he sat alone and contemplated the situation. Very often, he ignored the others. On the occasions that they were allowed outside, it was under Verdev’s supervision, and Erestor only sat beneath a tree and continued his contemplations of the situation. During the night, when the others rested, was when Erestor was most active. He spent the time exercising – pushups, sit-ups, and various other aerobics that he could manage in the darkness without weights or other equipment.
At the end of the two weeks, he waited until the guards had crossed around the building to the side opposite the window. The bricks, which had been piled up in front of it in the expectation that future escapes would be thwarted, had been secretly kicked over that afternoon when he had been allowed outside, at a moment when Verdev was not watching. Taking that short window of opportunity, Erestor walked under the window and leapt up. He grabbed hold of the edge on his second attempt, and held his grip until he was steady.
Slowly, he pulled himself up. It took all his strength and patience to manage it, but he eventually managed to move his hands up along the smooth, wooden surface until he had walked them up the slope of the window and felt the edges of the bricks and the wet grass touching his fingertips.
It took a bit more, but he used his legs and placed his feet upon the steep wall, pulling himself up as he climbed the wall to aid his escape. He had to be careful not to knock the bricks around so that no one heard him, but he did make it out before the guards were back on that side again.
He listened carefully, and once he heard them coming around, slipped to the next side of the building. This pattern he followed for a few minutes while he surveyed the area. He was not entirely aware of how many guards were being posted in the evenings due to being in the prison, but now had a pretty good idea of where the patrols were set up. His hope was to go by way of the courtyard, but that way was cut off. There were far too many orcs blocking the path, as well as a large tiger that was dozing with its head resting upon its enormous, furry paws. Even Gondolin tigers were not as massive as this one was, and Erestor decided not to try his luck that way.
To the south was the wreckage of the tower, and the clean-up of the debris was still ongoing. That meant that hundreds of orcs were moving in and around the boulder-like chunks of brick and mortar. Erestor moved to face the east, and this route he found the most probable. Going north would put him out in the open. So would east, but not for as long. The market stood to the east, as did the houses of Salgant and of Duilin, and further along the land that Glorfindel and Tuor and Maeglin had held. Some of Rog’s estate was also in this area, and there was the always the slums.
If Erestor could make it into the lowlands, the valley where the poorest folks of Gondolin had resided, he stood the best chance of escape. The houses were built close together, and the alleys and streets were numerous. The shadows would hide him well.
Erestor moved north around the structure. He wanted the most time possible for his sprint across the wedding gardens. Crouching, he stretched the muscles in his legs, and then his arms and back. When the orc guards made the turn to come around to the north, Erestor jogged back around to the east. He rolled his neck, set his sight on his destination – a large tree just past the Field of Marriage – and ran.
His feet flew and his arms swung quickly at his sides as he raced against time and charged toward the tree he would use to hide himself. He tried not to breathe, not wanting to catch the attention of any of the guards. Once he reached the tree, he slid down onto the ground, and lay there, panting against the blades of sweet summer grass, the dew clinging to his hands and clothes and cooling his face. He looked across the wide expanse that he had traversed, and watched the guards step around to the east side that he had come from. They were carrying on a conversation, and might not have noticed him if he had still been running.
Erestor surveyed the rest of the area, and looked for anyone whose attention he might have gained with his stunt. None of the orcs were watching him, not even those closest to where he was now. Then he caught sight of eyes upon him from far away, and saw a tiger standing and alert. It was often at Verdev’s side, and Erestor had yet to figure out if it was his mount or just another pet. Erestor pressed down against the ground, hoping the creature was looking at something else.
The beast raised its head and sniffed in the open air with jaws open slightly, then licked its malicious mouth and began to pad in the direction of Erestor. Still hugged to the ground, Erestor crawled slowly backwards, down a slight slope. “You little bastard,” muttered Erestor as he rose up and began to run again, for the tiger was moving closer and faster, and now some of the orcs were glancing toward the giant cat with curiosity.
The market was not far away, and Erestor did not stop and did not look behind him until he reached it. Once there, he wove around the empty stalls and broken tents. As he passed one ragged tent that was knocked over, he grabbed the fabric and ripped it from the poles. It tore off in a long sheet, and Erestor turned to see the tiger bounding down the stone walkway. Without giving the idea a second thought, Erestor threw the material over the beast, then quickly stepped around another nearby tent and pushed it over onto the temporarily blinded creature.
He could hear the snarling and growling behind him as he kept running. Leaving the market behind, Erestor ran across the gardens of the House of the Harp, and navigated his way past the fields where the annual games would have taken place a few weeks ago, had the attack not occurred. In the moonlight, he could see that he was approaching the theatre. The tiger was still giving chase.
Instead of staying outside, Erestor ran up to the doors and tried the handle. They were locked, so he stepped back and rammed into them with his shoulder. It took two more tries before he was able to break in.
The stage was untouched; the theatre was perfectly set. Every chair was in place, crushed red velvet brushed smooth. Every golden handle and piece of crystal in the chandelier had been recently polished. Erestor vaguely recalled the excitement and enthusiasm from Faelion the day that he learned that he had been cast as the lead actor. They celebrated that night at one of the finer pubs, and drank and talked until daylight. It had, in fact, been the last time that they spoke before the fall – the last time they had really spoken at all.
Erestor backed his way down one of the aisles, waiting for the tiger to enter. As soon as the first tuft of orange and black fur was visible, he jogged to the stage and hopped up onto it. The tiger stopped at the door and glared at Erestor, who was now standing center stage. Unfortunately for Erestor, there were no props present that would help him tame or kill the beast, so he waited until the tiger leaped across the back four rows of seats before dodging behind a curtain and escaping through a back door.
Then he ran. He kept on going, not daring to look back for any reason no matter what sound he heard or anything he might have thought he saw. Once he had crossed down into the valley, he slowed down and hoped he was safe.
What he did not expect to find once he was there were the numerous tents that were set up throughout the area. Row after row, and most of the houses (which had not been destroyed in the ruin of the city) were being occupied by orcs and men of Morgoth’s army. It was now that Erestor dared to look behind him, and in the distance a set of yellow eyes were trained upon him.
Again he ran, and this time he deviated from his path and went around the slums. The distance was further than he had hoped to go, and his legs were beginning to give out on him. He mustered all of his energy and continued on, leaping over a fallen tree that was in his path. No longer was he concentrating on his breathing or the noise he made, only hoping that he was going fast enough to escape the seemingly inevitable.
It was not long before he reached one of the main roads and saw before him the Golden Flower estate. The fields where horses once roamed were now occupied by hungry looking wargs and wolves that snapped their jaws and clawed the ground when they saw Erestor approaching. He scouted the area, looking for other unexpected traps. If he could make it into the woods, he might still stand a chance. So far, there were no orcs on his trail that he could see.
Erestor darted past the fence and tripped on a piece of broken brick. He pulled himself back up and ignored the skinned knee and bloodied palms. His chin was warm as well, and probably sported a cut from the way it smarted. He kept running. He made it to the spot where the fence stopped, where the creek ran through the land. Without much hesitation, he followed the creek back into the sparse collection of trees on the outskirts in order to find the river. If he jumped into the river, he could start swimming.
As soon as he reached it, he stopped.
The woods...
...were gone.
Only a few trees here and there remained. They were the largest and oldest, and probably the most dangerous to take down with the smaller ones in the way. All around, stump after stump stuck up from the ground, and piles of lumber were gathered here and there.
And...
...there were orcs.
Dozens of orcs.
All of them had their attention focused.
On Erestor.
With an audible gulp, Erestor did a panoramic scan. Fires burned across the area, making it very easy to see just how many foes were watching him. There was, in his mind, still a chance. He went for it, regardless of the odds, and dived into the water.
His victory was shortlived. It was not the arrows that were fired into the water that proved to be his downfall, nor the exhaustion that burned in every muscle of his body. Instead, it was the tiger, for it cared very little about getting wet as it leaped into the water and landed on Erestor’s back, pushing him to the bottom of the riverbed.
The shock caused Erestor to gasp, and he reflexively attempted to expel the water. Instead, his reaction flooded his lungs and caused him to flail in the water. The claws of the tiger tore into his clothes and ripped through skin and muscle. He screamed, but underwater, no one could hear him. He felt teeth grip his arm as his limbs became weak and the pressure upon him immense, and when he blacked out it was with relief and hope that perhaps his torment was over.
Unforgivable by Zhie