The Chosen Child of Peace (1/?)
Rated PG13-R for extended scenes of peril, extreme physical and mental tourture and memories/references to sexual tourtre.
Whilst the surivival of Gondor is at stake, the son of a king is abandoned and alone, mourning the brutlal loss of his closest compainion, his twin brother. Little did he know that horror awaits him back in Gondor, as Lothriel and the King of Rohans' eldest son has been murdered.
Unbeta'd
Huge apology for deleating my other stories. Anyhows, hope you like this one. Any seemingly slack language is used to reflect the style of language spoken in the slums. The way I created Alumon/Elfwine is mine. The character Elfwine himself is tolkiens. No infringment of copywright intended.
There was a trotting of hooves to be heard all down the street, trumpets and voices heralding the kings' arrival. The company halted and began to dismount outside of the tavern stabling.
"Here kid, I just brought these," the thin girl held up the bag of warm rolls, "D'ya want some,"
The little boy looked up, his deep, sea blue eyes looking longingly at the bag, wondering if the offer was really true, whether he, in a few seconds, would truly be eating again. He decided it wasn't a real offer that she would run off cruelly, like so many before. Silently, he nodded his affirmative, it was worth a try.
"You sure, you had to think about that one, didn't cha"
The boy pulled the remnants of his tunic round his bony form, trying to gather some warmth, and wondering how to say what he wanted to say. But he didn't have to; the girl had simply opened up the bag and offered him a roll. Smiling his thanks, he took it, and for the first time in weeks bit, chewed and swallowed.
" 'ent cho the silent one," the girl remarked.
The boy smiled, turned around and pointed to the company, revealing a bruised and sore back, with marks that looked suspiciously like whip lashes completely covering it.
"What happened to you?" a voice asked from behind him. The boy swivelled around at lightning speed. The face of a fair, Numenorian man appeared in his face. He cowered, remembering it was a man like this that had killed his friend, and tortured him. A voice spoke from the side.
"Hands off the Kid mister, ya' want anyone, you take me!"
"Shhhh, I am not trying to take advantage of you, I was merely worried about your welfare," the man found himself talking, explaining himself to a girl, "It's my duty as the king of Gondor, apart from the fact I wished to help."
"An adult, worried about us, as if. Betcha dunno wot it's like to live like us. Starving belly n thirst. Cold to the bloody bone, Betcha fine in your cosy castle, in your cosy city, far away down the bloody south, not a care in the world about us up' ere. Forgotten, wandering homeless kids like me. Ill tell ya' wot I fink of you sir, I think you're a dirty rotten backstabber, you sed you'd rebuild this world, look around and see what a bloody poor job you made of it."
"Before today, when was the last time you ate?" the king asked trying to change the subject. Both the boy and the girl looked dangerously thin.
"Me, free days, him" she gestured to the boy, "Probably about two weeks."
"Two weeks, Eru! Just let me help you, please."
"You won't 'elp us, u'll jest make us work from sunrise to sunset for nuffing, I don't want to be Gondor's Bloody slave. I 'ad inuf of slavery wen I was a bloody slave, same with the kid ere. Same with all us bloody kids back down the shelter.
"You were a slave, but not anymore, let go of the past, and let me help you, please. You are a citizen of Arnor; let me prove to you I care. Take me to your shelter and let me help you."
"Alright come to our bloody shelter, but don't cha dare bring anyone and make us move," she said
"I won't, just take me there, please, let me help you" the king found himself begging to a slovenly girl from the slums.
The girl shot him a glare, but led the king away. A blonde elf and a man with mousy brown hair tried to follow, but the king gestured to them to stop. He had to do this alone. Only he could restore the trust he seemed to have lost in the youth of his homeland. Then he wondered about the boy. He seemed so quiet, and he had seen something too deep in his eyes for a child of that age. The boy seemed like a spitting image of Eomer, just in a smaller version. But he ruled that out. Haradrim had taken both the twin sons of Eomer as hostages. This he knew, as he had been with the king over the duration of two weeks when the body of one of them had been sent back, grossly: piece by piece. But then there was the other. Thurin Magor, his secret association of protectors of Gondor, or spies, had intercepted messages that his other child, Elfwine, had either escaped or been freed, it was hard to interpretate which.
The small boy stumbled alone behind the girl weakly and very slowly. He was wheezing, probably ill and frozen to the bone. The boy tripped. The king rushed forward to grab him and pull him back up. He brushed over the boys shoulder and felt a scar. The boy moaned ever so slightly and pulled away.
The girl pulled back the ivy that covered the entrance to the deep hole in the ground, and their in the centre, huddled around the fire, were 6 or so, thin, starving and scarred children.
" 'Ungry fellas? I brought us our king, we can eat 'im," she laughed. The rest of the children laughed too. The king began to look nervous.
"Oh come now my liege surely you can recognise a joke when you see one?" one of the children asked sarcastically.
"Yes, well I would say the circumstances here are rather different."
"Different to what?"