Chapter 2
Adira's POV
Adira was in pain, lots of pain. More than she's experienced in her entire captivity here, however long it had been. Adira hung her head. She strained yet again against the chains that bound her to the wall. Her dark, dank, cramped cell was in the bowels of Morgoth's fortress, Angband. The Avari were right to call it the Hells of Iron, Adira thought. Because this is hell.
She was bound to the cold stone wall by a thick, heavy chain around her neck. He hands were manacled behind her back. As Sauron himself often told her, resistance was futile.
Thoughts swirled around in her head, of her old life, of a certain Noldo prince, of torture, maiming, pain. It hurt, so much. Where was he? Didn't he know where she was? Certainly Morgoth would have tried to use her as a bargaining chip. But maybe he was too busy, too consumed with lust for those cursed jewels to notice. For the umpteenth time that day- or was it night?- Adira's vision began to fade, and her thoughts were not her own.
Beleg's POV
Today was really not Beleg's day. Thingol was in one of his moods, and the sky mirrored his temper. Rain poured down in torrents. As if determined to make every Elf as miserable as he was, Thingol ordered Beleg's patrol group to inspect the area within a three league radius of the Girdle. Nan Dungorthreb was running amok with the foul offspring of Ungoliant. Ruinár was killed in the skirmish, and several other noble Elves were wounded. Thingol had finally awarded the position of Marchwarden- to Celoríl. Beleg had been working diligently for decades for the honor, and Thingol knew it, too. True, Beleg had been a bit- wild in his early years of service to Doriath. But he was of age now and very serious about his job.
Under the circumstances, perhaps it was not surprising that a girl- a human girl- made it past the Girdle.
