Part two of the PLEASE FORGIVE ME chapters! We get to reunite with our troubled heroine. WARNING: Elf torture ahead. For the more sensitive readers, please continue with caution.
Tirnel's vision was cloudy as she struggled to keep up with Mauhúr and the orc. They laughed every time she stumbled, pulling her off balance with the lead-rope that they had tied about her throat. One particularly violent jerk brought her to her knees, coughing.
"Get up!" Mauhúr yelled, kicking her in the ribs. She curled up with a small moan, pain radiating throughout her torso. Mauhúr growled, grabbing a handful of Tirnel's tunic and dragging her into a sitting position. The orc chuckled as Tirnel struggled to stand, her legs shaking. Dehydration was making her weak and shaky, and her head pounded as she tried not to faint. "Alright then," Mauhúr said, and picked her up as though she were a sack of potatoes.
Tirnel's eyelids drooped and she fell into a stupor as her captors marched along, but woke suddenly as Mauhúr threw her to the ground. Smoke burned her eyes and lungs as she looked around, rocks digging into her back. Many orcs swarmed around her as they rushed off to various tasks, entering and leaving deep caverns that rent the ground, filled with torch-light and the sounds of forging.
A tall black spike of a tower stretched towards the sky, appearing ghostly and sinister through the smoke. A man dressed all in white was standing at its base, and he swept towards Mauhúr as Tirnel managed to shift onto her knees.
The man's face was aged, but the swiftness with which he bore down upon Tirnel betrayed no feebleness. He was carrying a staff of black metal, at the end of which was a milky orb. He crouched by Tirnel, beady black eyes boring into her. "I said take the Halflings, and to kill the others!" he snarled.
"We wanted a bit of sport," Mauhúr said, licking his lips.
"Well, then take her!" the man spat. "I have no time for foolish interruptions." He rose and walked back towards the tower, muttering angrily about incompetent fools.
Tirnel saw her only chance of survival slipping fast, and she called out frantically, "I know what it is you seek! I have seen it!"
The man froze, then turned slowly. "And what," he began, "could an elfling tell Saruman of Many Colours?"
Tirnel hesitated, then said, "I will tell you, if I am taken away from these foul creatures." Mauhúr growled and made to kick her in the ribs again, but Saruman held up a hand.
"Very well, child," he said softly. "I will grant you request." He flicked a hand to Mauhúr, who dragged Tirnel upright and followed as Saruman went back inside his tower. He crossed the floor inside the tower, opening a door on the other side. It led into dark, steep stairs descending into the ground. The orb at the end of Saruman's staff lit, glowing brightly as he walked down the stairs. Mauhúr hefted Tirnel up onto his shoulder, so he could follow behind Saruman. Before long, they came to a second door, which Saruman unlocked with magic before continuing. The next section of stairs was steeper than the last, made of uneven stones, slippery and sticky.
At the bottom of the stairs, a row of foreboding metal doors loomed out of the dark. Saruman walked up to the nearest and pushed it open, releasing a metallic scent, heavy and thick with neglect. At this point, Tirnel's panic, which had been climbing ever since they had passed through the first door, broke. She struggled to escape, but only managed to fall off of Mauhúr's shoulders. He snarled and grabbed her arm, dragging her into the cell. She saw dark, sticky puddles spotting the floor, shimmering in the faint light. Saruman pointed to a set of rusty manacles dangling from the far wall, and Mauhúr shoved Tirnel towards them. She tried to squeeze past Saruman and escape, but Mauhúr pinned her to the wall and fastened the metal around her wrist. He snatched her other arm and did the same before standing, grinning horribly.
"I shall see exactly how much you know tomorrow, for I have much to do today that does not involve you," Saruman said. "As you asked, you shall be quite alone here. Good night." He turned and left, Mauhúr chuckling nastily behind him.
Tirnel winced as the door slammed shut, then let her head rest against the damp stones of the wall. The weight of the past few days fell upon her with the force of a dwarf's hammer, and a few tears leaked out of her eyes. Ordinarily, she would have bitten her lip and blinked, effectively vanishing all traces of weakness, but now she let the tears fall.
Above her, in Saruman's study, Gríma was telling the wizard of the mountain fortress. "Helm's Deep has but one weakness," he said. "Its outer wall is solid rock, but for a small culvert at its base, which is little more than a drain."
"Good," Saruman replied. He was pouring a grey powder into a large spiked orb, filling it with the strange sand.
"How?" Gríma asked suddenly. "How can fire undo stone? What kind of device could bring down the wall?" He leaned over the orb, candle perilously close to the sand.
Saruman grabbed his arm. The strange sand had already destroyed a number of things when exposed to fire, and he did not want to waste time nor energy cleaning up after the weapon. "If the wall is breached, Helm's Deep will fall." He strode towards the balcony that had once overlooked a beautiful tree-lined path.
"Even if it is breached, it would take a number beyond reckoning, thousands, to storm the Keep!" Gríma whined, following the wizard.
"Tens of thousands," Saruman agreed.
"But, my lord, there is no such force!" Gríma cried as the wizard stepped out onto his balcony. Below them were hundreds upon hundreds of orcs, stretching out over the grounds of Isengard. The roared in recognition as Saruman appeared. Gríma completely dumbfounded in his wake. The wizard raised a hand to quiet them.
"A new power is rising!" Saruman called. "Its victory is at hand." The orcs yelled in approval. "This night," Saruman yelled, "the land will be stained with the blood of Rohan! March to Helm's Deep! Leave none alive!" The orcs screeched, clashing shields and howling in glee. Deep below them, Tirnel looked up to her shaking ceiling, wearily wondering what doom lay above. "To war!" Saruman yelled, raising his arms in triumph. Unnoticed by Saruman, a tear slid down Gríma's face as he learned the fate of his homeland. The army screamed its approval and began to leave. "There will be no dawn for men," Saurman said quietly.
Smiling malevolently, Saruman went to see Tirnel. She was bouncing her fist on one knee, letting off nervous energy that she hadn't know that she had.
"Well, little elf," he said. "I hope you will cooperate." Mauhúr entered the cell, followed by a few orcs. The man grinned nastily at Tirnel. She did not allow her face to betray any other emotion than stony indifference and hatred, and merely listened as Saruman continued. "You have told me that you have seen what is seek, and that you know what it is. But I must verify this. Tell me, what is it that I seek?" He smirked as Tirnel faced him.
"You seek that which would bestow upon you ultimate power," she said cooly. "You seek the One."
Saruman seemed startled for half a second, then smiled. "Quite so, elfling. Where have you seen it, and who carried it? I do know it was a Halfling."
Tirnel closed her mouth tight.
"I have a feeling that this little jewel is not showing us all of her facets," Saruman said silkily. Tirnel did not respond, though she wanted to curse at him in all tongues known to men, elves, and dwarves. "I believe that some...drastic measures may have to be taken," the cruel wizard continued. "For her information is vital to us."
The orcs around the wall growled as Tirnel felt unbridled panic filling her chest. In Saruman's twisted views, 'drastic measures' could involve anything from her being violated to being tortured to within an inch of her life, and anything in between. Mauhúr stepped forwards, holding in his filthy hands a whip and a small leather pouch.
By Elbereth, she thought. Salt. There's salt in there. She nearly sobbed aloud, half in fear and half in relief that it was not worse.
"Now, let us begin," the wizard said. Another orc pulled Tirnel's boots off, followed by her stockings. "If you do not answer satisfactorily, then you will be tortured by Mauhúr. Though I am merciful: I will only have your legs whipped, both to preserve your dignity, and to punish you for your earlier escape attempt. Where is the One Ring?"
"I do not know," Tirnel said, truthfully. She had no idea where Frodo and Sam were.
"Hmm. We will have to work on your answers, my dear." Saruman signalled to Mauhúr. He growled and set down the salt, then raised the whip and brought it down on Tirnel's legs.
She stifled a cry as the pain rippled up her legs and through her body. It felt as though fire had been held to her legs, which had long red welts on them.
"Now, I ask again. Where is the Ring?"
"I do not know," Tirnel repeated. The whip landed again, this time breaking the skin. Blood spattered Tirnel's face as she tried not to cry out. A small moan of pain slipped by her lips, and Saruman smiled.
"A pity," he murmured, "that one so fair must be...broken." He made a gesture, and the orc kicked her in the ribcage. She gasped and rolled over, exposing the backs of her legs, still free from harm. "Tell me where the Ring is, and we will stop. You will be taken care of. Just tell me where it is."
"No," she growled. "I will not let the world end by my hand."
"I feel that you may need to use that whip, Mauhúr," Saruman snapped. "Elves who do not cooperate are punished," he added to Tirnel, who glared at him with burning defiance.
Mauhúr grinned horribly, and brought the whip down on the elf's legs again. Tirnel gave a sharp cry of pain, eyes tight shut and a tear falling. An ugly whip-wheal spanned both of her legs, raised slightly and burning scarlet.
"The Ring!" Saruman growled, patience waning fast.
"Never!" Tirnel hissed, eyes burning through the tears.
Saruman brought his arm down in a motion very like the one that Mauhúr made a moment later, ripping through Tirnel's skin. She choked on the pain, throat closing suddenly and more tears burning her eyes.
"I would hate for you to be further injured," Saruman whispered, leaning down to speak in Tirnel's ear. "If you would only tell me where it is…"
"Never," Tirnel repeated, voice hoarse with pain.
"Now that is a pity," Saruman purred. He stood back as another orc approached, this one with the salt-pouch. Tirnel gasped and tried to move, but her legs flared in pain. The orcs laughed cruelly, one of them pinning Tirnel's arms to the wall. The others watched as the orc with the salt took a pinch from the leather bag. It slowly and deliberately placed the salt into one of the gashes on Tirnel's left leg, then pushed the small crystals deep into her flesh.
The pain was like nothing Tirnel had ever felt before. It burned and pierced, streaking up her spine and down her other leg, racking her whole body with lightning-bright pain. A cry was torn from her lips, ragged and broken. It was not a wordless scream, but a curse that made Saruman laugh. He crouched by her side, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to look up into his dark eyes.
"We need not to be going through this, my dear," he murmured. "Just tell me-"
"NEVER!" Tirnel's cry was the loudest yet, causing Saruman to recoil from her. He stood tall, an evil smirk spreading slowly.
"The whip, Mauhúr," he said to the man with the whip. He snarled his approval, slinking forwards, bringing the whip down harder than ever and breaking the skin again. Scarlet blood ran down Tirnel's legs, pooling under them and painting her flesh. She choked again, trying not to give in to the pain that was driving her almost past endurance. You can get through this, she thought, eyes catching on her ring from the Lady, her eyes filling with tears unrelated to the pain in her legs. Do it for the hobbits. You sacrificed yourself for them. Do it for Iowen and Helegon, maybe already married. Do it for the memory of Nemirdir.
The salt pressed agaist into her wounds, making her sob in pain. The orcs laughed. Through a haze of pain, she heard Saruman say, "The Ring. Tell me."
"No," she moaned. The whip landed again, crushing the salt further into her flesh. More salt was ground in as she cried out in pain.
"The Ring."
"No."
The whip landed; the salt poured on. The cycle repeated itself until Mauhúr ran out of salt. He threw the empty pouch onto the stones, now covered in Tirnel's blood.
"Well, elleth, we seem to have run out of salt. Now, I am afraid I will use magic to give you an incentive," Saruman said, flicking a spot of her blood off his cloak.
Tirnel barely heard him. She was immobilized and deafened by the pain, hearing only her blood rush and pound through her head. She lay on her back, quite incapable of movement or speech at the moment. Saruman was grinning over her, until his eyes went as wide as full-moons and he lunged for her throat. She vaguely felt his fingers at the back of her neck before he straightened up, clutching something gold in his hands.
"So," he began, voice shaking. "You killed the Halfling and took the Ring. You have just turned the tide of the war, my dear." He laughed and strode out of the dungeon, the orcs following him. The cell was empty before Tirnel could register fully what had happened, still being dazed with pain. She reached up to find that her mother's chain had been unclasped and that the false Ring had been taken. She let her head fall back with a sigh of relief and fell asleep instantly.
Miles away, Treebeard walked through Fangorn. As he crested a small hill, Pippin scrambled higher in his branches. "Look! There's smoke to the south!"
"There is always smoke rising from Isengard these days," Treebeard replied.
"Isengard?" Merry repeated.
"There was a time when Saruman would walk in my woods," Treebeard said as the hobbits climbed higher for a better view. "But now he has a mind of metal and wheels. He no longer cares for growing things."
Merry was looking south, the wind blowing the sound of distant horn blasts toward him. "What is it?" Pippin hissed.
"It's Saruman's army," Merry replied weakly. The black carpet of orcs stretched for what seemed like miles, still issuing from the gates of Isengard. "The war has started."
Whoa. That was heavy. Leaving you guys with these two mongo chapters is what I will have to do for a while. I'm sorry! But I will get my ass in gear on typing up the next. I know these probably weren't worth the wait, and I'm really sorry if I've disappointed you. I love you all, and I hope you stick with me!