Thanks to everyone who reviewed the 1st chapter! I decided to write another one, but I don't think it'll sound as Pellinor-ish as the first chap did… I've been writing a lot of other stuff, and I think I'm stuck in a different style for now lol. Hopefully it's not too bad! I'd like to hear what you think, so if you read, why not review?
Maerad woke confused, surrounded by unfamiliar bare walls and propped up in a bed she couldn't remember ever seeing before. The room was only mildly lit, a single torch hung from the wall opposite of her bed. Shadows reached into each of the corners, making the room seem smaller than it actually was. There were no sounds to be heard; no one was waiting by her side in case she resumed consciousness.
Maerad sat still for several minutes, her features twisted into a frown as she attempted to piece together the memories that led to her black out. She remembered a dense forest and traveling with Cadvan; she remembered being anxious about finding Hem in time to save her friends - and all of Annar - from the Dark.
Nothing in her memories gave reason for her current position.
It was a painful reminder of a time in her past, when she had woken from a long journey through frozen lands to find herself swathed in fur blankets and kept in a foreign fortress. The apprehension was the same, the unease of not knowing what was to come. It shook Maerad into action.
First and foremost, she glanced briefly down at her hands - an impulse reaction. Everything was as it should be; the line of scarred skin across her hand was a familiar sight now, almost reassuring. Maerad stretched next, working some energy back into her lax limbs. There were various aches that called her attention, but the pain in her body had reached far greater plains before, so Maerad dismissed them without much thought.
The floor was stone, bare as the walls and cold against Maerad's feet as she tried to find the balance to stand. Her boots were gone, as were her well-worn traveling clothes. In their place was a plain white gown that hung limply past her knees. The material was clean and soft, but Maerad was irritated at the loss of her own clothing. She would have been more at ease if she could possess at least one piece of her proverbial self.
She refused to linger on the fact that her pack, which contained her lyre, was not present, either.
The only other object of interest in her room, besides the bed she had woken in, was the door. Maerad found herself staring at it - deliberating the chance that she would like what she found on the other side. She disliked the idea of going out anywhere, dressed as she was.
This deliberation was short lived, replaced by anxiety the moment the door handle moved. The movement was miniscule, caused, perhaps, by the pressure of one's hand resting on the other side. The sound of a lock clicking open made Maerad flinch.
So she wouldn't have made it far, had she decided to take her chances with leaving.
Maerad took several quick backward steps, freezing in place once her legs touched the bed behind her.
The door swung inward inch by inch, as if in slow motion. It hadn't opened far when a slim figure slipped through the crack, entering Maerad's room and closing the door behind them. Maerad knew immediately that she had not met the boy - for it was just a boy, perhaps her age or even a year or so younger. His features were veiled by the hood he wore, which hung down low over his face.
"Who are you?" Maerad was pleasantly surprised at the strength in her voice. As least she could sound it, if she didn't feel it.
When the boy spoke, his voice was laced with disapproval. "You're supposed to be sleeping. They wouldn't like it if you were up and about."
Maerad felt her eyes widen, but otherwise attempted not to display any emotion. In her mind, her thoughts were reeling from the information already provided. They wouldn't like it. It didn't sound like they were merely holding her health in high esteem - it sounded like she was being kept prisoner. She didn't like it. Unease trickled into her voice when she replied, making it tenser, quieter.
"Where am I?"
Her first inquiry had been disregarded, so Maerad didn't hold out much hope of the second being answered.
The boy took two large steps, bringing him to the center of the room. Maerad resisted the urge to move away; the only option for placing more distance between them was to stand against the wall. Her current position was better than being cornered, at least.
It was only when he was closer, where Maerad could just make out the frown fixed on his face, that she realized he was a Bard. The distinctive glow was very faint in him, but it was there. Without a moments hesitation, she reached out to him in the Speech.
"Please, won't you tell me where I am? Where my things are?"
That brought a reaction, though it was not the one Maerad had anticipated. The boy laughed, chuckling to himself as if he'd just heard a funny joke.
"Enkir will be coming to speak with you, I supposed, since you refuse to sleep. He has much to say to you."
The words were in the Speech, but Maerad's mind had stopped comprehending them after the name he began with. Enkir. Maerad wasn't sure if she would not rather be in company with the Nameless One himself.
More than anything, she wished she could recall the events that led to her capture. Then she might know where Cadvan was, or, more importantly, if he was still alive.
It was terrible to wish that Cadvan was in a similar room somewhere close by, prisoner as she was, but Maerad wished it all the same. If she were captured, there were few other alternatives for his fate.
The boy, who Maerad had almost forgotten in the dept of her thoughts, sneered and stepped closer still.
"We were right to place our trust in Enkir, I see that clearly now. Only a Bard with his capacity could restore peace to Annar. Those who find hope in the foretelling of the Fire Lily are naught but lost to the Dark."
Maerad knew she should feel indignation, for it was not only herself being addressed, but all those who believed in her, as well. Anger was there, she could perceive the irate emotion dripping fire into her veins, making her skin tingle with warmth - but it was greatly overshadowed by defeat.
Was there a purpose to fighting anymore? Maerad wasn't sure.
"If you have no more information to give me, you should leave. Send in Enkir. You were right, there is much to be said between he and I." Despite the emotionless front she feigned, Maerad's voice disclosed the deep hatred she was feeling.
The boy nodded; his hood drooped even lower in his face with the movement. Without speaking another word, he turned and left her alone again. The lock clicked shut seconds after his departure.
Maerad sank down onto the mattress, letting her tired muscles relax and dropping her head in her hands. In the darkness behind her closed eyelids, she could see Enkir as he was in the tower of Norloch - arrogant and filled with scorn towards her and Cadvan. He was with the Dark, Maerad had known so right away, and had thought others might recognize the evil of his ways on their own. She had been mistaken, apparently. What a skilled pretender he must be, in order to trick even a few Bards into believing his actions were done in the name of the Light.
Time passed, and Maerad remained motionless, dealing with the bleak complications of capture in her own quiet way. When she got tired of sitting, she put her legs up on the bed and leaned back, resting her head on the single lumpy pillow. She felt for Cadvan for hours, attempting to find a trace of his essence while skirting around stranger after stranger.
Finally, drained and discouraged, Maerad had no choice but to give up. Sleep rose once more to claim her, and she went willingly, pleased to have found an obtainable escape from reality.