They had ridden for what must have been hours. At some point, Lindo had fallen asleep on the horse of the human guarding him, so it was possible more than one day had passed on the journey to the prison they were held in now, as it had been dark when he'd awakened even though he last remembered late afternoon. His gag had been removed when the group paused for a quick bite to eat at some point, though he and Folco had only been given a single piece of bread each. If anything, it had made him even hungrier.
When they'd exited the Waste of Dré into the beginnings of an inhabited region, the group had halted and one of the humans had barked a command for their eyes to be blindfolded, their mouths gagged and their heads covered. This order had been carried out ruthlessly. The last thing Lindo saw was the fetid-clothed orc who extricated a dirty cloth from his breeches before the beast tied it as tightly as it could possibly go. Not too far away, he heard Folco protest "what do you think you're- mmmmph!" just before gagging and choking on the very unpleasant taste of sullied cloth. He heard some laughter in the background as the sack was pulled over his head. Something tickled at the nape of his neck.
"We ought to pull the string closed!" said a guttural voice that could only be an orc's. Lindo winced; breathing was difficult enough as was between his covered mouth and the loose sack, meaning he only had his nostrils and whatever air got under the sack as it flapped in the chill morning breeze.
A human demurred, "no, we need them alive. Jarmir's orders. They are to live to face the consequences for their crimes." The jolting recommenced as the group resumed the ride to wherever Folco and Lindo were being taken, wherever they were now, leaving Lindo with his fearful speculations on what exactly those consequences might be.
After an eternity, the horses came to a halt. Lindo felt the man behind him dismount, heard a torrent of footsteps, heard a conversation in low tones. Then someone had unceremoniously pulled him off the horse, carrying him none too gently. There'd been a door, then another door, then he'd been dropped to the floor as though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
"Take off their head coverings," a detached voice directed. "And their gags, no need to worry about interference here." Footsteps moved closer. "On second thought, untie their hands, they have sufficient warning that trying anything foolish like escape attempts will only make them rue the day they were born. Besides," the voice chuckled softly, "it would be amusing to see them try."
Lindo cringed. This could only mean they were in such a well-fortified area that the guards felt very comfortable having them untied. He felt somebody pulling on his arms and then cold metal sliding between his hands as the bonds cutting off the circulation to his hands. He instinctively began rubbing his hands against his wrist to alleviate the pain of blood rushing to the area.
Someone shoved him and Lindo stumbled slightly. "What are you doing?" someone shouted in his ear. He winced at the volume. "Take off the blindfold and gag! Now!" With trembling hands, Lindo quickly acquiesced to the demand, blinking against the sudden bright light. As his eyes grew used to the light, a colorless Folco came into view, massaging his hands and flinching in pain as his cuts rubbed against the crude bandages. Two guards flanked him, one an orc and one the brown-faced human. Lindo himself had the red-haired man on one side and the one with the pointy beard on the other. The bald fellow was rifling through papers in the basket while the young one with the scraggly hair was scribbling something onto parchment.
They were in a spacious room in a building all of stone. The wall had several iron rings of different sizes at rather higher than would be comfortable for a standing human fixed into the stone. Lindo shivered slightly, not wanting to imagine what was done with those rings. Several guards stood around the outside of the room, as did several wooden stools nearly as high as Lindo himself, each in the vicinity of two of the rings. There was also a desk, an easel with a large piece of parchment and an array of paints on a table alongside it. A wardrobe stood in one corner, a chest in the other three.
The one in charge of the group was a surprisingly short human- he could not be more than five and a half feet tall. His build was completely unremarkable, neither fat nor thin, neither brawny nor flabby. The man had wavy blonde hair, tanned skin and soft blue eyes that were large in an almost cherubic face. The beam he wore was unnervingly amicable. Were it not for the company he kept, he might easily have been mistaken for a sweet, innocent sort of fellow.
"Welcome back to Drémeadow," he said. His voice sounded as kind as his smile. Only the frostiness in his eyes suggested his thoughts were anything but benevolent. "I do hope you've had a pleasant journey." He began pacing around the pair. "Now, this could very well be called the welcome desk of your ah… accommodations. Before we show you to your rooms, however, we have some business to finish here." His mien was as though he were an innkeeper and not a jailer. The man strode over to the desk and took a seat behind it. The guards flanking the young hobbits pushed them towards the front of the desk and the fair-haired man, who gave yet another seemingly pleasant grin. The adolescents simply stared, petrified.
"No worries though, you may find yourselves spending rather a lot of time with me. If you choose to, anyhow. That decision is entirely up to you." Lindo and Folco exchanged a glance, wondering what the human might mean by that. "First though, I really would love to remember your visit since it means so much to me. Khalil!" The dark-skinned human stepped forward, an orc replacing him on Folco's left.
The blond-haired man continued, "I'd like you to do the sketches of these two so we can have this moment preserved for posterity. Get these two onto stools- make sure they cannot move. It's always a shame when a portrait is ruined by someone being unable to stay still." He looked at Folco, a falsely sweet smile crossing his face. "Wouldn't you agree, Your Highness?" The prince remained quiet. "Well?" Still an obstinate silence. "Dear, dear, and here I am thinking royalty was supposed to have the best manners of all… perhaps the right methods have not been tried on you. Know what I mean?" Folco muttered indistinctly, a frown on his face. The fair-haired man looked to his charges, shrugging his shoulders. "I am sure we shall persuade him to be cooperative soon enough," he told them as casually as though he were discussing the weather. "Now then, carry on."
Lindo found himself being half-carried, half-dragged over to the stool against the wall just opposite from the easel, then lifted by his arms and roughly placed on the stool. The men did not relinquish their grip once he was seated but instead held his arms fully extended at his sides. Several feet away, Folco received similar treatment. Lindo noticed he looked even paler than before. As the hobbits were held unable to budge, the bald-headed human moved to a chest, opened it and began moving things around. Lindo heard a series of metallic clinks and clanks before the man withdrew two pairs of iron shackles and proceeded towards him. He wound the shackle through the metal loop closest to Lindo's stool, took his left arm, jerked and twisted it up behind him so his wrist would reach the shackle- the hobbit moaned slightly at the uncomfortable angle- and clamped the iron shut on it. The same was done with his right arm.
"What do you mean by doing that to him- oy!" the prince protested as the same was done with him. "This is not how you ought to be treating prisoners…" He began to struggle, his face twisting in pain as his every movement pulled on his arm in a direction no arm ought to have force on it."
The men laughed. "You ought to be careful not to squirm too much," the light-haired man said with the air of a parent addressing a mischievous toddler. "You might cause the stool to topple and then your shoulders could rip right out of their sockets. I wouldn't want anyone hurting themselves now…" Lindo shivered, revolted by how cavalier the man was about it. "Now, mind you lads behave yourselves now… the sooner we immortalize you in your portraits the sooner you can retire to your bedchamber for some rest… so I really do advise you to stay still... now, Khalil, everyone knows royalty does not like being kept waiting so I'd advise you to do Prince Folco first… leave nothing out…"
Lindo gave a sympathetic wince. Between the dried blood in his hair and the mottled bruises marring his friend's ashen face, this was not exactly going to be Folco's best-looking sketch.
After a long time, during which Lindo's hunger pains reached a crescendo before subsiding into weakness, the portraits were finally finished. The blond-man gave orders for the two young hobbits to be escorted to their accommodations. "Unless you choose to cooperate when the time comes to answer some questions," he informed them jovially, "we shall certainly see each other again. I'd love to accompany you to where you will be staying, see, but I have some other business to attend to with other guests of mine. Blindfold them, unshackle them from the wall and take them away!"
The guards adhered to the command and Lindo felt the blindfold close around his eyes again. They were guided an indeterminate distance down what seemed to be a hallway. At one point, he was lifted off the ground and carried as though he were a small child. From the feeling of the jostles beneath his body, the hobbit conjectured that they were going down a flight of stairs. He tried to listen for clues to his surroundings, but the only definite sound was the gentle slaps of shoes on stone. At long last, he was placed on the ground and shoved forward. "In!" barked the voice. His hands were unchained, he could hear the jingling of more chains, and then their blindfolds were unceremoniously torn from their heads. They turned just in time to have a metal door slam in their faces.
.