Imprisoned
The elves were silent as the trap door to the oubliette slammed shut on the ceiling above them. They had tried every ancient art they knew of to rid themselves of their shackles and flee the hooded one who controlled them, but all efforts had proved futile. It seemed only a couple of minutes before they had been rising with the dawn, ready to herald their new home when inexplicably, one by one, they had surrendered control of their bodies to the strange figure. Many of them had not even noticed when their hands had stopped stirring breakfast on the stove or when their fingers had forfeited pulling at the various sheets. It seemed so gentle, so quiet, so easy just to let their feet go; just to oblige the pull and glide towards the neighbouring vessel which had silently pulled up next to the elven ship. The only one who had seemed able to resist, even for a few seconds, was Gandalf. Perhaps the hooded one had not realised there would be a wizard on board, and it took him a few minutes to adjust the magic to encompass the struggling man. Gandalf had understood at once that the only one able to survive this attack was Frodo, the resident hobbit. He had hastily scrawled a quick message informing Frodo of the relevant places to be truly enlightened as to the situation. "We will be waiting for you" would also signal that they expecting him to fulfil his abilities. He had hidden the note amongst his sheets and managed to press a quilt between his first and second fingers before succumbing to the walk to the nearby vessel. As he walked on deck, he twitched a smile when he saw Frodo fast asleep, the magic rendered completely harmless. Hobbits really were surprising creatures. As he passed the loops of rope the hobbit was residing, Gandalf surreptitiously released the quilt to cover Frodo. Hopefully, he would not be noticed.
"My liege, good news of your kingdom" said Treasurer Roanus kneeling before Croesus in the traditional way.
"What is it, Treasurer," inquired Croesus, bored, "this had better be wonderful, I'm not in the mood for dry words. On second thoughts, if what you have to tell is dry, I can have you executed. That would be fun; a highlight on a dull, dull day."
"Hilarious" agreed the Treasurer cautiously.
"Well, spit it out, I have better things to do today," snapped the king.
"I intercepted a ship coming from the western lands today."
"WHAT?" shouted the king, "WHY DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?"
"I will expl-" attempted Roanus but Croesus was not in the mood for lengthy explanations (not an unusual mood to be sure).
"HOW IS IT THAT WESTENERS POP UP ON OUR THRESHOLD AND I DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT?" bellowed the king, "I AM THIS CLOSE TO EXECUTING YOU RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW." With the words "this close" Croesus motioned with his fingers.
"All those onboard are currently locked up in the dungeon below this very floor," said the Treasurer half pleadingly, half accusingly, "see for yourself."
With that he heaved up the rug covering the entrance and heaved up the trap door with one of his deathly strong arms. For a moment Croesus did nothing, staring accusingly at the half desperate treasurer to see if there was any foolery in this. Eventually, making up his mind, he clicked his fingers. The guards hidden behind the pillars instantly jumped out of their hiding places and held Roanus fast; Croesus didn't want Roanus to try anything stupid while he was looking into the pit. Standing up regally from his throne, the king approached the open trap door carefully, wary of what might be lurking beneath. Who knows what the Treasurer could have rigged for him.
Reluctant to kneel, or even bend over, infront of another of lower status than him, Croesus called for one of the guards keeping the door.
"You, with the flat feet," he snapped, "yes you. Come here and see if this Treasurer is telling lies." Immediately the guard rushed over and briefly saluted his king before peering into the oubliette.
"Well?" quipped Croesus, "Full Status Report, private."
"Reporting, sah!" began the guard, "Eleven individuals; shackled and bound; three of present consciousness; four sustaining injury, well four with blood on them your majesty; and apparently none human."
"Also last night, I imprisoned another four hundred and seventy two of them on accompanying vessels." reported Treasurer Roanus back to his usually calm face. "I believe these were the most important ones so I put them here, where escape is nigh impossible due to the round the clock guards and your majesty's presence. This oubliette is perfectly sound proof, and any conversation you have up here will not be overheard by the prisoners."
"I'm going to see this for my self," decided Croesus outloud, "I will not trust this until my very eyes have seen it. Down on your knees, all of you." No one could be standing while their king was kneeling according to Iphigenian law. Once sure noone else was upright, Croesus knelt and stared into the gloom. There they were; eleven beings from the western lands crammed into a space designed for eight. Roanus would have a little explaining to do, but for now there would be no beheading. Shame really.
Frodo was having a discussion with two very nice falcons he'd met resting in the branches of the tree above him. They were very excited that a "featherless two legger" could understand them. In bird legend there used to be a people, long before the fourth age, who were half bird. They could switch between bird body and human body and lived harmoniously with all beings of flight. Unfortunately there was a war and they disappeared leaving birds to be hunted by the remaining men. The falcons didn't seem clear on the issue and bickered amongst themselves as to some of the detail, but that was all right as Frodo could spare a few minutes.
"I was wondering if you would do me a favour." he asked.
"Yes, yes" the falcons cawed, "we owed the half feathered two leggers plenty of things. What can we do?"
"It seems today there is a clothes market or similar on."
"Euch!" shuddered the falcons, "fancy wearing fake feathers."
"Well," continued Frodo, "I think I need to borrow some in order to fit in a bit better here. I don't think the elven clothes I'm wearing are very popular over here."
"I see no difference, personally," cawed one falcon.
"They're all the same to me," agreed the other.
"Do you see the carts coming in with piles of clothes on them?" persevered Frodo.
"Yes, yes" was the reply.
"I would like you to pick out as many as you can and drop them over there in that clump of trees." said Frodo pointing to a bit of forest a fair way from the road. "I can choose what I want to wear from there."
"Okay," agreed the falcons nodding.
"Thankyou very much," replied Frodo, "and good flying!"
As the falcons took off, Frodo began to stride out purposefully through the grass in the fields surrounding the city to the drop off point. The grass was so tall that it went over Frodo's head and concealed him from beady eyes. The negative was that he had to stumble through blindly and wait until he reached the trees. Upon arrival, he saw scattered about on the ground various items of clothing that certainly did not look very familiar to him. He wished he could deliberate over what he wanted to wear, but he had to hurry because the owners of the clothes were surely running towards him at that very moment anxious to get their goods back. In the end he decided on a long beige coat with a big enough pocket to put his listening rock in, some strange eye-coverings that were shaded black and a grey hat. As for the height issue, he found a flat rock which he split in two. He would stand on these and magically move one forward whenever he took a step. The long coat pretty much hid the fact he didn't have human size legs.
Now for the brilliant escape plan. He couldn't just walk out of there to run straight into the owner of these clothes could he? He split the ground and was literally swallowed up by the earth. Carving his way through the rocks underground Frodo made sure he was careful to pile dirt up behind him so no one could tell he had ever been there. He continued to use his listening rock to determine that he was within city walls, and then made sure the coast was clear to get above ground again. Frodo was disguised and ready to go.
Hi people! Oubliette, by the way, is a small dungeon accessed by a trapdoor. It comes from the French "oublier" which means "to forget". This is my honest attempt to write longer chapters! I hope you like it, and recognise who Frodo looks like with his "disguise". Please R&R! Thanks,
Empress Pip