The Leave-Taking
'It will be okay.' she thought. 'It has to be.' They had to come for her; wouldn't abandon her to an agonizing death. Her breathing remained rapid and shallow though. The shadows were closing in on her as the night fell and she knew that, soon, all she would see was the inky black of the night. Her heart was beating so rapidly and so violently that she feared it might erupt from her chest. Never had she been so afraid, but even now, she wouldn't accept her own fear. She was an elf. For her kind, fear did not exist; for her kind, fear was thoroughly inconvenient. So now, here she was, trapped in a filthy shit-hole with no way to escape; bleeding and broken and so very, very alone.
Finally, Aranel Toroniel gave in to the pain and the fear. The tears began to fall faster and faster down her dirt-streaked face. She had no idea how she came to be here. She vaguely recalled being smashed in the back of the head and roughly dragged away by her hair. She was pretty sure that she had been thrown in front of someone on a horse like a sack of potatoes and brought here…where ever 'here' happened to be. She screamed in frustration and pounded her fisted hands on the cold, wet wall, even though all that did was serve to increase her pounding headache and cause her hands to hurt terribly.
A man…an edhel…laughed slyly sitting in a dark corner of the cell; his hood was kept over his fair elvish skin. "That will get you nothing more than a good lashing, my lady." Erundil, for that was his name, was imprisoned solely because he secretly wed a woman, who wanted to leave the evil lord whose cell they were in. "I saw them fighting to carry you in. It took quite a few mortals to hold you down, whilst the door was opened." After a brief silence, he asked, "What did you do?" His voice was quiet at the question.
Aranel jumped slightly when she heard the voice for she hadn't been aware of the presence of another, let alone a male, in the cell. Turning, she thought she recognized him as an elf. His eyes, though difficult to see, were an odd shade of navy blue.
"If only I knew," she stated with great frustration in her voice. "I remember very little about how I came here, never mind why." After a moment of staring into the dank darkness, she said, "My name is Aranel. Why are you here?" She desperately hoped that he could enlighten her as to where she was. And she prayed to the Valar that he was not some murderer or rapist. 'Yes,' she thought, 'that's just what I need to be caged up with. Well, maybe, just maybe, someone will come and rescue him. Then, I can get out too.' She laughed inwardly at that thought.
"Erundil. My name is Erundil." He said it as though he had not heard his name in a long while and his voice was ever so soft. He told his story to her and she felt sad that he had lost all hope of love.
Then, suddenly, a fat man with greasy black hair and a dreadful stench entered the cell and grabbed Erundil roughly by the arm. He dragged him away, despite Erundil's kicking and fighting, leaving Aranel wondering what they were going to do to the edhel.
Lindale sat in his dark cell all alone for what he thought was the seventh week in a row. He knew he was at the very back of the dungeon and that no others were around. He continued counting the stones in the wall in the dim light. He already knew how many there were; he had counted them at least forty-six times already. There were two-thousand, nine-hundred, and seventy-seven. He could hear the monotonous echo of the water dripping in from the outdoors in the corner of his cell.
Suddenly a cold wind blew through and he pulled his cold, damp cloak closer around himself. After seven weeks here, he still had no idea where he was and less as to why he was there. He hadn't heard another voice in weeks and the last one he had heard came out of the fat guard who had dragged him into the cell. The man had left a rather large cut on Lindale's face that was still healing in the un-sanitary conditions.
He reached up and touched the wound, frowning when he felt the tender edges. 'It will never heal at this rate!' He hissed in pain and anger.
Idly, he wondered if he was alone in this place. It was doubtful though. Why have such a large dungeon if you were only going to imprison one or two people? That seemed awfully foolish to him. Besides, his elven ears picked up faint whispers and confirmed his belief that he was not alone in this hell.
Aranel sat miserable in the cell. There was now no one for her to talk to and she felt weak and ill. She shivered in her wet and filthy garments; they could not even be called a tunic and leggings any longer for they were shredded and falling off her. Suddenly, she felt a wave of nausea come over her and she knelt forward and vomited out the contents of her stomach; dry-heaving when there was nothing left in her stomach.
Shaking violently, she curled up on her side and tried to relax. Just as she was slipping into a restless sleep, though, she heard the heavy bars of the cell door creak open and felt her hair being ruthlessly pulled.
"Get up." The voice was raspy and held no choice in the command. When she didn't get up immediately, he pulled her up by her long hair. Crying out in pain, Aranel stumbled to her feet and gagged at the overwhelming scent of alcohol. The man then proceeded to drag her down the aisle and into a cold, empty room. Somehow, she knew something bad was about to occur.
After a moment, two other men, who also reeked of alcohol, entered the room. One went to the wall and pressed a well-concealed button. A part of the wall swung open to reveal what Aranel instantaneously recognized as instruments meant for torture and she began to shake almost uncontrollably. This only served to make the disgusting men laugh even more than they already were.
The next few hours were some she would never speak of to anyone. When she was
thrown, quite literally, back into her cell, she was bruised, bleeding, and barely able to move. Standing was impossible. She guessed that one of her legs was probably broken. She was bleeding rather profusely from the back of her head and one eye was swollen shut. She was struggling to breathe and knew that she had at least one broken rib. All the fingers on her left hand were causing her excruciating pain and were bent at odd angles. She wasn't alone in the cell, though. Erundil was back and, after a quick glance towards him with her good eye, she saw that his condition was almost as bad as hers. He, however, was sleeping.
Failon hummed an elvish tune softly to himself as he sat with Legolas writing a brief letter to his sister. Legolas was sprawled in a chaise next to him reading a book on weapons. He enjoyed spending time with Thranduil's sons, particularly Legolas. They had known each other since Failon was little and were always close friends, despite the great difference in years.
Out of the blue, Legolas cried out and bolted into an upright position, where he had been laying a moment before, looking as though he had just been hit with an Orc arrow. Grabbing his head in his hands, he shook himself all over as though to rid himself of a nightmare. Failon could see Legolas forcing himself to breathe deeply and calm down.
"What is it, meldiren?" Failon's voice was heavily laced with concern. He had never seen Legolas act in this manner before. "Are you ill?" As foolish as the question seemed, for everyone knew elves did not fall ill, he had to ask because the behavior he was witnessing greatly puzzled him.
"Failon, I feel pain." Legolas's voice was strained and anxious. "Terrible pain coming from relatively far." He stopped for a moment as though trying to collect his thoughts, then continued. "It seems to come from the East. I think it is Aranel." He returned his head to his hands and rested it on his pulled-up knees.
Failon looked at his severely distressed companion and put his hand on Legolas's shoulder to comfort him. "Why do you think it is Aranel?" His voice was soft and soothing. He didn't want to cause anymore stress for Legolas.
"She never came back from her last watch. Those who were out with her told me she left to patrol a little on her own and never returned to them."
"Why didn't they report it sooner?"
"They believed she probably came back here. Later on that day, Miril came back rider-less. I went to her room to see if she was perhaps there and Miril had just gotten away from the stable boys before they could un-tack her, but I found her hawk, Fairië, and her wolf, Ëala, but no Aranel. Ëala was pacing the room restlessly. That was my first hint that something was terribly wrong. Scouts were sent out to look for her, but when they returned they brought with them only her weapons. She never leaves here without her weapons!" When he stopped, he rocked himself a little and Failon encouraged him to continue.
"I have long felt pain from that way, but never this great and I can only think that she has been captured. I cannot ignore it any longer for now it disturbs my sleep and distracts me in my duties. Will you find her? Find her quickly." His voice was strained again and he was shaking slightly. "Go and bring her back to us, and any others you find that are still alive. Be careful, though, please. I couldn't bear losing my best friend too." He stopped and looked desperately at Failon, his eyes filled with fear and hope. He knew, though, that Failon would go, if only because Legolas had asked him so pleadingly.
"Why have you not gone after her, Legolas?" He knew this could be a damaging question, but it was one that needed asking.
"Because Lord Raumo, as he calls himself, has been causing problems at our borders of late. Besides, he and his men would recognize me; probably even my brothers. That would surely be more trouble for her than anything else. My father has said as much as well and, in this, I must agree with him. I won't do anything that will endanger her anymore." His face fell and his impotency in the situation showed on his face.
"Relax," he said softly. "I will go. You only need tell me what you can." Failon smiled weakly at his friend.
"To the East of here. I think it is Raumo, even though Orc bolts were found near her weapons, for he has been of increasing trouble as of late." Legolas looked at his friend and let out a tiny sigh of relief.
"I will go. Just give me a little time to prepare." With that said, Failon stood and hurried to his rooms to pack the little he would need. Legolas headed for the kitchens to have some food packed for Failon's journey.
Failon ran to the stables after he had finished packing, while tying back his long chestnut hair, and quickly decided to take both his horses, Lírë and Meldi, in the event that more than one person was rescued. He tied his pack to Meldi and then tacked Lírë. Sheathing his dagger, he tied it to his left leg. He then grabbed his belt with his blade, Naira, and fastened it tightly about his waist. Taking his staff from where it was leaning, he leapt astride Lírë's ebony back. She whinnied and trotted towards the front gates where Legolas was waiting; Meldi in pursuit behind her.
When they came to the gate, Failon saw that Legolas was waiting with his brothers; all had nervous expressions upon their faces and Failon vaguely wondered why nothing had been done before to find Aranel. Legolas strapped a few days worth of rations and water to Meldi's back and then stepped away to stand with his siblings. Failon patiently awaited further instructions from his friend.
"Do you know anything at all about this place?" He looked at Legolas's face and knew that the prince felt completely inadequate at being unable to protect his adopted sister.
"I only know that it is a very dark place; hidden by the forest. If you look hard, though, you shall find it." Legolas stopped for a moment and studied his best friend's face. "No i Melain na le. Be safe and navaer." Legolas looked hopeful as did his brothers.
Turning Lírë sharply, Failon nodded and took off at a gallop due east. He worried that he would not be able to bring Aranel back alive for Raumo was known for his atrocious treatment of his prisoners. He only hoped he was not too late and quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
The evening after Aranel had been beaten, Alasseo strode quickly to the dining hall of the castle. Without so much as a knock, he entered the room and walked to the head of the table and stopped in front of its only occupant; a dark figure in a hood and robe.
"Alasseo, you have some nerve to barge in on my dinner like that." He stopped and took a bite of the roast pheasant. "You have her, correct?" It wasn't a question as much as it was a challenge.
"Yes, Raumo." No one else addressed him so informally and lived to see the light of the next morn. That was also part of his being second-in-command, though.
"Wonderful," he said in his thick, greasy voice. "Bring her to me. I would very much like to see her." Raumo smiled darkly and there was a hint of evilness in his eyes.
Alasseo turned on his heel without event a polite nod of his blonde head and left the dining hall. He fumed on his way towards the dungeons. How he hated that man! 'This time he has gone way too far!' He thought angrily. Entering the cold, damp dungeon, he walked rapidly towards the cell of the requested prisoner.
"You," he said harsher than he meant and motioned towards the elleth. "Come here." She looked at her cell-companion, who was still asleep, and then slowly limped towards him, yanking her filthy, bloody, dirty-blonde hair out of her equally filthy, bloody face. "The master of this place desires to see you." He spat out the word master, completely disgusted at what he was doing. He could see that she was in terrible pain and barely able to walk.
She looked at him curiously out of her one good eye, the other swollen and painful, and decided that he didn't appear to be cruel, but he seemed angry and dangerous. She felt no fear towards him, though. Alasseo led the elleth through the dungeon, grasping onto her arm in an effort to help support her almost non-existent weight. He couldn't believe Raumo had let this woman waste-away, especially since she was apparently such an important 'guest.'
The two walked through the dungeon towards the doors and then up the long flight of stairs. Aranel stumbled upwards trying to be strong, but found it to be a very difficult task for one in her condition. She looked over at the man escorting her. She knew he did not want her to think he was helping her in any manner, but she knew he was. And that gave her a seed of hope.
When they reached the top of the stairwell, Alasseo led the tiny she-elf down a decadent hall. As they walked down the hall decorated in ebony doors and mahogany walls, he studied the one next to him. He noticed that one eye was swollen shut and the other had a dark circle underneath it. She was limping and favoring her right leg. He also noticed that the back of her head was bloody as though someone had hit her hard from behind and that her breathing sounded very loud and he guessed that she could not breathe comfortably.
He struggled to control the anger he felt bubbling up inside at her treatment. 'What could she have done to deserve to be treated to cruelly!' Thoughts rolled around in his head and he fought to get them back under control. He could not enter Raumo's presence in such a state. Both he and the elleth would be punished. He doubted she could take anymore without dire consequences to her life.
Suddenly, he stopped abruptly and Aranel ran into him. She would have fallen, but he grabbed her before she hit the floor. They had come to a large, intricately carved wooden door. 'He is in here,' she thought anxiously. 'The man who brought me here; who let this be done to me.' She was terrified to face this man. And when the huge doors swung open, she knew that the cruel robed man before the roaring fire was indeed the man who had brought her there.