Category: Lord of the Rings

Rating: R

Couples: Elrond/Thranduil, maybe Legolas/Glorfindel and hinted/relived ?/others

Warnings: AU, Slavery with every terrible aspect of it, Slash

Chapter: Prologue

Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien, Plot & OC´s © by me

Author's note: Since in none of the books I read (Lord of the Rings, Children of Húrin, Translated and (I suspect) shortened Versions of the Silmarill & The Hobbit) is an explicit mention as to exactly who the Harad are, so how they lived, their customs and so on, I decided to mix them into how I would want them to be. Which ended up being a mixture of Buildings and normal clothes of Alladin (for they too live in a desert) and old Japanese customs and formal wear, read: kimono's, (I do so love the old Japan). They also have Houses, somewhat like the elves, but here every House has his own piece of land consisting of several Oases' and the land in between. Oases' can be overtaken and when all the Oases' of a House have been taken, that House in name does not exist any more. All the details will be revealed later. This of course is so completely not like Tolkien would have had them in his mind and if any one knows how he had them, I would greatly appreciate it if that person would tell me.

Then there's the matter of speech: normal between "…" is Common Tongue/Elvish; normal between '…' is Mind speech; Italic between "…" is Harad Tongue.

And last and least in this note: this happens about two centuries before WotR and some years before Smaug descended on Erebor.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The elf whimpered when the wind again blew sand into his open wounds. The cage he was in was small and dirty. He had been sold to the slaver days ago, for the family that had owned him for nearly a century had come into serious financial worries and after nearly selling everything they had owned, they had been forced to sell their most precious item; the only elf held as a slave.

He managed to crack open one of his swollen eyes to look at the Harad passing him by. None would purchase him. They all feared the saying which again had proven true; own an Elf, own nothing… He just wished his captors had thought the same.

He had been taken while he had been on his first patrol without his brothers. He had felt so proud that day, but all his dreams and all his hopes had been shattered when the Harad, outnumbering them 5 to 1, had descended. The entire patrol was slain and he taken. He missed his home…

Sudden commotion pulled him from his melancholy. He pressed himself against the bars of his cage to see what was happening. Every Harad, no matter what he or she had been doing, was cowering on the ground. It seemed like ages until he finally could see why.

Carran…

A mighty lord among the Haradrim, leader of the White Harad, who owned more then a quarter of the entire Oases' one could find in the Southern Desert. And who was the arch-enemy of Nazhgar, his former owner, leader of the Elf-Owners, who once had been a mighty lord among the Haradrim, who once had also owned a quarter of the entire Oases'. But that had been long ago. The land of the Elf-Owners had been reduced to one tiny and poor Oasis near the border with Gondor and since the might of a lord fell and rose with the amount of Oases' he owned, Nazhgar was far from mighty.

Carran was dressed in the traditional garb of rich men; leather boots with the distinctive curl at the front, pants that were wide, but tightly closed around his ankles and waist and a knee length mantle which hung open at his sides. The leather belt around his waist was made of Mûmakil leather and most likely held a richly decorated dagger. His waist long hair, against tradition, wasn't hidden under a turban but was one thick braid draped over his shoulder. Two men who looked like they had troll-blood in their veins flanked him.

He was smiling warmly at the people at his feet while he passed by. Then his eyes met the eyes of the elf and his smile froze. While he had first had been simply walking at a leisure pace, he now practically ran to the stall holding the elf.

"Is that an elf?"

The slaver pressed his forehead into the sand as affirmative. "Yes, My Lord"

"Let me guess; Elf-Owners?"

Another affirmative. "Yes, My Lord"

"How much?"

The slaver, too shocked to remember protocol to keep looking down no matter what, looked up. "My Lord?"

"How much you ask for that elf?" The irritation was clearly audible in Carran's voice.

"I… Two bags of gold, My Lord…"

"Two bags? While he's in this state?"

"My Lord, forgive me, but the Elf-Owners wanted three bags of Silver and I need to feed my family…" Fear coloured the slaver's words.

An irritated sigh. "Two bags of Gold, Ormern…"

The elf watched in growing curiosity as the two bags switched owners. Two bags of Gold! That was the price of a Breeding-Mûmakil, not of a slave.

The slaver opened the cage and the man called Ormern gripped his arm. His hold was surprisingly gently for a man his size.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Carran had been shocked to find an elf here. But then again, the Elf-Owners never had owned brains and always were… desperate – that was the only fitting word – to have people know exactly why they were called Elf-Owners. The fools…

He looked at the elf. Sindar or Silvan, for he knew enough of elves to know that he couldn't be Noldor, for Noldor – with rare exceptions to the rule – were dark-haired and this one was blond. He never quite got the difference between Sindar and Silvan. Both blond as a rule and living in trees… Why give them two names?

He shook his head. He had bigger problems then the none-existing differences between two elven races. Like how he was going to get that elf back.

When they arrived at the encampment of his House, set north of the Grand Market, he called for his oldest.

"Prepare to leave as soon as possible." His son merely bowed and obeyed.

Ormern let go of the elf and pushed him towards Carran. Carran indicated the elf should follow him. Desperate to please his new master, the elf obeyed. Only to find he was desperate for some kind of support as he stumbled and would have landed in the sand hadn't his master caught him. Instead of letting go again, Carran guided his charge to the main tent. Inside he carefully laid him on the bed and called for a healer. After his wounds were looked after, he merely studied the elf.

"Where are you from?"

"Master?"

"Which land do you hail from? Greenwood the Great? Lothlorien? Imlandris? Or maybe even the Grey Havens?"

The shock on the elf's face could have been amusing.

"Surprised I know the elvish lands?" Carran smiled when the mouth of the elf fell open. It must have been ages since he last had heard Quenya. "Or language for that matter?"

The elf swallowed. "I… I hail from Greenwood the Great… Master…"

"I suspected as much. With the Harad Road near it's southern border… But one question, how did you get caught? The Harad Road might be near your border, but not so that it's a regular occurrence that Harad venture into your woods."

"They came…" The elf hugged himself. "In the middle of the night… They outnumbered us… They… They…" Strong arms closed around him. "What will you do with me? Master?"

Before Carran could answer, his son walked in. "Everything is ready."

"Very well… We will leave tomorrow at first light."

"To the North?"

"To the North. Send word to your mother. Tell her… that history has repeated itself. She will understand."

"Yes, Father."

"Oh, and send word to the North. The same message."

"Yes, Father."

"The North?" The elf had fallen back into the tongue he had been forced to speak for years.

"The North." Carran smiled. "That's how I always call a friend of mine. I will take you to him."

"Friend?" The elf grew suspicious.

"Yes, friend. Maybe you have heard of him, while being still home. His real name is Elrond Peredhel."