~ A skirmish ensues and afterwards the elves find a new use for strong alcohol. ~

6. Fighting Orcs

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The elves moved so fast their limbs became blurred. Jumping off their horses they drew swords and slender daggers, fearlessly meeting the attackers.

Galion drove his two handed sword against an orc's shield with a metallic clang, hard enough to make him sink to his knees, and Thranduil let his two slimmer blades slice the air with a whining sound as he approached a second one on light feet.

The archer elves swiftly circled their enemies and punched them in vulnerable spots with their daggers.

Two orcs were forced to back away under Galion's onslaught and Legolas used the opening to run away a few yards where he could string and draw his bow. Soon arrow after arrow showered over the orc band.

The horses, now mostly riderless, took the opportunity to bolt.

Wynne was paralyzed with shock and fear and when Vatna fled she promptly fell off, right in the thick of the tumult. She was instantly surrounded by yelling orcs, agile elves and the ugly smell of blood.

In the confusion of trampling feet and weapons she lost all sense of direction. Curling herself into a ball, she tried to appear small and inconspicuous.

That was not a good strategy in the midst of battle. Almost immediately an agonizing pain erupted in her leg. She glimpsed a gruesome face with an arrow sticking out of its cheek and then the creature was on top of her. Blood from its wound darkened its thin lips when it bared a set of crooked teeth, preparing to bite.

Instinctively Wynne pulled away and kicked it in its wrinkled face. Its nose cracked with a sickening sound and she was sprayed with a fountain of hot blood.

The orc doggedly came back, raising its short sword to give her leg another jab, but she kicked again and again. At last it was gone.

She crawled away, slipping on blood and entrails, whimpering in fear, terrified she would be grabbed by orc claws again and get pulled back.

Then she realized everything had become strangely quiet.

Looking around in a daze, she saw dead orcs littering the ground, and among them the elves calmly cleaning their daggers and swords on the dry grass.

She couldn't believe it was over already. Where was the orc that had attacked her?

There. Right beside her, but only its limp body. Its head had rolled away with the arrow still sticking out.

Had she kicked its head off? No, that was impossible. One of the elves must have decapitated it without her noticing.

Galion came over and helped her stand. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She tried to walk in the direction Vatna had run, anxious to know that the horses were alright, but her legs wouldn't carry her. A strange weakness had come over her and she sank to her knees.

Staring at her disobeying limbs in surprise, she saw a scarlet stain on one thigh. Had the orc bit her?

She fingered the sticky hose and discovered a long rift in the wool. Then she had been stabbed, not bitten, and thankfully not very deep. Merely a flesh wound. So why couldn't she stand?

"Let me help you," said Galion kindly. He pulled her back on her feet and led her away from the blood and mess, back toward the hill they had first come over.

After only a few yards she had to stop again. Bile rose in her throat and she bent over, retching heavily, but nothing came out.

"Good thing we did not have dinner yet, eh?"

It was Legolas of course. Even now, after everything, that annoying elf would come and tease her.

Wynne rose angrily, giving him a glare that only made him laugh more.

"I had better back off, or I too shall get a taste of those impressive boots of yours. You kick like a meara, my lady." He made a mocking bow and wisely moved away.

Before they left the battleground, the elves piled the orc corpses together and burned them with the aid of lamp oil. They wouldn't allow orc filth to poison the lands.

The elk carcasses were too big to burn and had to be left to the flies and scavengers, even though it was a sad sight.

"Typical of orcs to ruin anything of beauty out here," Galion remarked demurely.

They were all tired, and not only Wynne had blemishes and wounds that needed tending to, but they didn't want to stay anywhere near the horrible stink of burning orcs and rotting deer flesh.

The horses had luckily remained within hearing range and came back as usual when Wynne whistled, and after about half an hour's ride Thranduil decided it was enough and they made camp for the night.

The elves had lots of healing equipment, such as bandages, medical herbs of various kinds and pain killing tinctures. Wynne had similar articles for the horses in her luggage, and in addition Mother had given her two waterskins full of undiluted distilled spirits. One for medical use, but the other, as Mother had put it, was for 'making the elves relaxed and easy'.

Trying to seduce an elf was far from the things Wynne wished to do at the moment, but she unpacked one of the spirit containers to disinfect her wound. It hurt more now that the shock from earlier had begun to settle, and she suspected the dirty blade would cause a nasty infection unless she was careful. She picked out some sewing equipment as well, for though the cut wasn't deep, the short ride had made the gash widen considerably. She needed a few stitches to secure it.

The elves were in various stages of undressing when she returned from the pack horses, and it took some determination not to avert her eyes in embarrassment. She must seem experienced and grown up and then it didn't do to blush like a little girl. Instead she joined them and boldly rolled down one of her hose to bare her thigh wound.

Carefully soaking a rag in the spirits she started to clean the cut, wincing in pain when the strong alcohol stung.

"What is that?" Nodir took the waterskin and curiously sniffed it.

"It's fire water. We make it from sugar beets, with yeast."

"It smells like some kind of strong wine. I never heard of sugar beet wine before. And you use it to clean wounds?"

"That, and you can drink it as well. But it's very strong. Mother mixes it with apple juice." That was a happy memory. The thought of Mother's apple cider made Wynne remember harvest time, when the kitchen was bustling for days on end and Mother, Grandmama and Wynne worked together, cooking and baking. Then they would gather some old neighbors and relatives and share the bountiful feast, eating and drinking all night long.

"Interesting." Nodir tried the concoction on some nasty scratches where an orc had clawed his arm. "Ouch! That burns!"

"Yes, but then you know it works. I like to think of it as the disease burning away."

Nodir nodded and went over to his brother. "Here Bron, try this." He helped him clean a sword cut on one shoulder, laughing at his younger brother's grimaces.

Her own injury forgotten, Wynne curiously watched Bronedir's exposed skin. Yesterday when the elves washed themselves in the river they had worn long undershirts similar to her chemise, so she had never seen a male's bare chest before, not even her father's.

Bronedir's smooth, tanned torso reminded her of a horse in excellent condition; his rippling muscles tensing against the stinging liquor, his flat stomach and broad shoulders – all were signs of health and good constitution.

Wynne rather liked what she saw and some unknown emotion began to stir in her.

She shifted her gaze to Thranduil who was tending an orc bite on his son's hand. He had a bandage wrapped around his waist but the rest of his upper body was uncovered.

He too had smooth skin, much paler than Bronedir's, and despite his baffling age his body resembled that of a young stallion in its prime; there was not a hint of unnecessary fat or wrinkled skin anywhere on him.

The odd feeling returned and Wynne couldn't determine whether she liked it or not. I was a weird combination of agitation and tension, like one might feel right before a horse race.

He looked up and noticed her staring and she hastily returned her attention to the injury. It was time to stitch it and she hoped she could bring herself to do it.

With shaking fingers she threaded the needle and sterilized it with the liquor-soaked cloth. Pinching the cut together and positioning the needle, she felt sweat break out at the thought of inflicting herself more pain.

"I can do that for you." A bandaged hand gently took the needle from her.

Letting out a relieved breath, she gratefully extended her leg. "I'd really appreciate it. Thank you."

A/N:

Who might this gentleman elf be?

A little hurt/comfort coming up! One of my favorite tropes. :)

Thanks for your kind comments and votes. <3

Image Credits:

Public domain, source: https://actionpedia.fandom.com/wiki/Orcs?file=Orcs.jpg