I thought I might inform those of you who read this previously what wsa going on. I accidentaly submited Chapters, 1, 2, and 3 as Chapter 1 the first time around. I fixed it today and resubmited them as three chapters. Well, Here's Chapter 4.
I'm going on vacation tomorrow and I won't be home until next week so I don't know when I'll post the next Chapter. But I hope you enjoy this.
Disclaimer: How dare you insinuate that I, full0fgrace, need a disclaimer! Of course I own LotR! Tolkein, the no good theif, stole the manuscript form me and published it years before I was born! That is why I am redused to writing fanfiction for my own story:)
Tragedy
Just six months ago we were a fairly happy family. My brother, My uncle, and I were going to the southern No Man's Land between Gondor and Harad. Grandfather was not allowed to go for he is nearing one-hundred and fiftieth birthday. My Grandfather and Uncle have been going there every year for—Ai—since Uncle Eldarion was twenty-five. My Grandfather has been going since he took the crown.
This is the trip when we take a break from our duties for just a short month. It is supposed to be a freeing opportunity. A chance to take a break and breathe deeply. It is a time to slow down and revert to our family's Ranger roots. It is supposed to be fun.
But not this year. This year—the first year Dafydd and I have gone—we were attacked by the Slavers.
We have heard of the Slavers in our Shining City. They attack traders and unsuspecting travelers who travel to Harad from Gondor or vice versa and sell them as slaves to the Haradrim Nobles.
We thought them a legend, a tale told to children to scare them into obedience, a story the Haradrim merchants tell to scare the Gondorians away from money. Oh how wrong we were.
Last night we were attacked as we walked through the night. We were as silent as lambs I thought. The horse stepped on a branch now that I think long on it. But that is all I can think of. I remember walking slow and tired when suddenly a hand flew over my mouth. I looked around and Dafydd and Uncle Eldarion were overcome—which is no small feat.
That was last night. They have tied us up—bound and gagged—in their tents.
They have sent Dafydd away. I do not know where for I cannot understand their language. I worry so much about him. He has been my protector. We are a pair. He fights for me and I soothe him. Oh my brother, my twin, what have they done to you?
They keep talking my Uncle as if he were this Aaron ben Q'uso person. They threaten him with my harm if he does not tell them where Q'uso's base is. But of course he cannot tell them. So far they have not hurt me.
I hear my Uncle scream. What new devilry are they doing to him? I shudder. Will they kill him if he does not tell what he does not know? I do not fear for myself. They would not hurt their livelihood. But my uncle is not so lucky.
What will become of me? My Dafydd? My Uncle? What will happen if the three left who carry Gondor's Royal blood are slain or sold as slaves? What will happen to my mother if we never return? Will this be the blow that takes my Grandfather's life? And what will my Grandmother do if her husband leaves her? What will happen to the Kingdom? Will we leave it in a worse position than the one we took it from? May Eru protect us.