The Rescue: Swords in the Dungeons

Even as Annúngil cleaned his longsword of orc blood in the safety of Thangúlhad, the stench of death and decay lingered in his nostrils.

It had been a bold incursion carried out with the aid of the Malledhrim. The pursuit of an orc party coming from Thranduil’s realm led Annúngil and his companions to a secret passage carved on the edge of the hill where Dol Guldur sat. The irregular steps led to a small gate on the side of the fortress, that proved to be poorly guarded.

Torist, a Malledhrim commander, had agreed to help them by creating a diversion. He led his forces to the fortress in secret, intent on starting a fire in Dol Guldur. Smoke rose up in the air, and Annúngil hoped Torist and his soldiers had managed to retreat before they could be overwhelmed. The idle hordes within would not let a chance for slaughter and mayhem escape them, especially not when their victims presented themselves of good will. Their assault would be upon the Malledhrim before any orc captain with some measure of cunning could crack his whip to stop them.

As for Annúngil and the others, their way to the dungeons of Dol Guldur proved almost uneventful. It was more unsettling than if they had met more resistance. It appeared no one expected a group of elves to dare an attempt of rescuing their brethren locked in the fortress. It was pure madness, of course.

Annúngil was no stranger to mad plans. He knew well that under such circumstances, one ought to be thankful for what little advantage was available. As it were, the madness of their plan was the only one available, so he was glad, and quite hopeful in fact.

Unfortunately, it could only do so much for them.

The elves were on their way out, having freed the prisoners who still drew breath from their cells, when the warden of the dungeons came upon them. He had been far more paranoid than the guards under his charge, and thus Annúngil and the others found themselves cornered by the warden and his lackeys. He was not sure whether the warden was an orc, man, or some fouler creature at the service of Sauron. He did not linger to have a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath his hood once the warden was struck down either. 

They soon learned the warden took a group of prisoners escaping as a personal offence, and chose to challenge the elves himself. Perhaps he did not trust the orcs to do the job, because no reinforcements came. Annúngil could understand why. An escape from his dungeons would likely cost the warden his head. Those who rose in the enemy’s ranks were often the most cruel and unforgiving of his servants; failure would not be tolerated.

Maybe the others were of another mind, but for Annúngil, it was precisely the warden's hubris that secured their escape, not the valor of the elves who answered his challenge. It was not to say the elves did not fight valiantly in the dungeon, of course. Indeed, two stood out in Annúngil’s memory, Turumor and Caethel. 

Turumor had stood his ground like one of the mighty captains of the “wise king” of Annúngil’s youth. Caethel’s arrows sang true, taking down enemies who could have brought the daring elves to their demise. They were not alone. Some of the Malledhrim had volunteered to join the daring rescue, and battled beneath the dungeon's alongside them. Annúngil did not know their names. There had been very little time for pleasantries. 
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After the clashing of weapons ceased and the warden was brought to heel, the elves did not linger. Once outside, Caethel rushed to launch a flaming arrow into the sky. It was a sign for Torist to draw the attention of the enemy while they escaped the fortress.

The elves were long gone when orcs finally arrived to find the warden and the guards dead. In the weeks that followed, tales would spread among their ranks. They would tell one another of the backstabbing elven-wraiths who entered Dol Guldur in the dead of night, clad in shadow and armed with long swords, fell and bright. 

Annúngil sheathed his weapon, eyeing one of the elves they had rescued from Dol Guldur. Even in her sleep, the haunted expression did not leave her face. It was true they had escaped the fortress, but it occurred to Annúngil that one did not easily escape Dol Guldur. As he sat against a ruined archway, hoping to get a couple of hours of sleep, he was unpleasantly reminded that the mind was a far more terrible prison. 

It was one thing to flee from the fortress. The hardest part, was leaving your cell behind. Annúngil did not sleep.