Time passed slowly in the dungeons. Maethor and Haedirn had tried every possible way to break the bars or the locks and failed. Which left them huddled in their respective cells, hoping for a miracle.
Charlotte napped on and off, letting her fëa light her small cell to chase the shadows away, and Maethor and Haedirn kept her southern shadow at a distance with their own fëar. She hadn't had a choice but to tell them about Mairon's attempts to summon her when they saw her fëa begin to flicker in her sleep. The subsequent slam from their fëar jolted her awake, and she slipped through his grasp once more.
Since then, she had been alternating between pacing the five and a quarter steps from her cell door to the back wall to stay awake while her guards rested and cocooning herself in their collective fëar to sleep.
The on-duty guards switched at least twice during the night, though none of them came close enough for her to see or speak to them. Hours ticked away, and the elves of Eryn Galen appeared to sleep on without a care for the three elves imprisoned beneath their feet.
It wasn't until she stretched her stiff arms above her head and several sharp corners poked her arm that she realized she'd had her body clenched so tightly she'd forgotten about their illicit pre-dinner activities. Her eyes widened, and she dove her hand into her gown, wiggling around to grasp the letters she'd stuck between the fabric layers.
"What are you doing?" Maethor asked, concerned. He sat with his side against the bars so he could see her. Haedirn was slumped in his cell, his eyes glazed over in sleep.
She yanked out the letters, and Maethor rolled onto his knees, pressing his face between the bars. "I thought you'd lost them," he said.
"Only temporarily misplaced the memory," she joked. She passed him the smashed scrolls and settled against the iron so that she could see too, though the slanting lines meant little to her. "What do they say?"
Maethor unfolded the first one, his eyes darting along the strings of Tengwar in the light of their fëar. "This is the order moving the Second Grove on the day of the attack," he said. "Signed and sealed by 'King Thranduil,' though we both know it was not him. I cannot believe Galion would seek to harm you. He was in his cups more often than not, and he was never particularly malicious. It does not make sense when there is little for him to gain from it."
He ripped open a second one, consuming the text, before he said, "This is an order from before the first war, dictating the movement of a grove in the south to the west. That was during Oropher's reign though." Maethor set it aside and picked up the next one. "This is the command that sent Haedirn to the south before your arrival. We both found it an odd request for the king since, as you know, he was Marchwarden of the North, but Haedirn obeyed. He was taken by spiders within days."
Charlotte chewed her thumbnail and twitched. Had the impersonator known about the spiders when he sent Haedirn south? "It doesn't make sense. What would Galion have to gain from any of this? Why would he want Haedirn out of the north?"
Maethor hummed and collected the folded scrolls. It wasn't like they could interrogate Galion since he was currently in a magically-induced coma in the healing hall. Then there was the problem of timing. Galion was found just after the attack, possibly during it, but the order could have been given before he was poisoned.
"Wait," Charlotte said, resting her hand on his arm to still him. Her brain struggled to put the pieces together. "That letter," she said, "the order dated just before the war. What was the date?"
Maethor sorted through the scrolls until he found the one he was seeking and rolled it open. "Sweet Elbereth," he said. "Both Thranduil and King Oropher were on their way to Imladris when this order was given. Why would Oropher have given an order like this if he wasn't in residence?"
"Maybe he didn't?"
Maethor shook his head. "There is only one seal for the reigning king at any time. King Oropher would have had his on his person, and we know he did because it would have been required for the contract between Thranduil and Princess Nemir."
"Then whoever issued this order, if it wasn't King Oropher, they must've affixed the seal before their departure."
"But why?" Haedirn asked.
Charlotte jumped. "You could've warned us."
"I could have," he winked, "but this was more entertaining."
Both Maethor and Haedirn froze, and then Maethor was scooping the letters into his hands and stuffing them into his tunic. Footsteps echoed through the dungeon, and a shadow stretched across her doorway. A guard unlocked the door, cracked it wide enough to place a plate and a goblet on the floor, and then slammed her door and locked it again.
Maethor and Haedirn received the same treatment.
The rations were meager: a hunk of bread, a small wedge of golden cheese, and an apple. Considering Haedirn and Maethor hadn't eaten the night before, they were worse off than she was. Haedirn downed the goblet in one go and stuffed the bread into his mouth.
"You may wish to slow down," Maethor said to him. "These may be our only meals for a while."
"Take mine," Charlotte said, shoving the bread and the cheese between the bars before she reached for her goblet.
Maethor glared at her. "You need to eat."
"I know I do," she said. "That's why I'm keeping the apple. Truth be told, I doubt I could stomach much more right now." And it was true. Just the thought of crunching on the apple made her stomach twist and her head throb. Still, she did it, forcing herself to slowly work through the nausea bite by bite.
The dungeons were silent, save for the snap of her teeth in the apple and Maethor and Haedirn delicately devouring the little food she'd been able to offer. It was the least she could do, considering they were only trapped in this mess because of her enchantment. She frowned and dropped the apple core.
How had Legolas fallen under the enchantment anyway? He was healthy and alert during the majority of dinner and then, within seconds, fell under the curse. Contrary to Cúthon's accusations, she had not cursed her little leaf.
"Maethor? Charlotte?" Haedirn groaned. "How much did you drink?"
"What?" Charlotte shook her head.
Haedirn's eyes fluttered, and he weakly grasped the bars between his cell and Maethor's. "How much of the goblet did you drink?"
She glanced down quickly, "Only about half?"
But Maethor was solemn. "Mine is empty."
"Dump it out!" Haedirn cried, even as he slumped. "Something is in it." He sagged to the side, his head hitting the stone with a crack!
Charlotte threw herself against the bars, "Haedirn!"
Maethor was already dragging himself across his cell when Charlotte rushed to her cell door. "Please! Help! Haedirn has collapsed! Help him!" She screamed it over and over until finally, she heard the soft thud of steps down the stone stairway. Why were they moving so slowly?
"Charlotte," Maethor called.
He was stretched across the floor, his hand reaching through the bars to her. She dove at him, and her hands cradled his. "They're coming," she said, smoothing her thumb over the top of his hand. "Don't worry. They're coming."
She had never tried to heal without her necklace. Had never had a reason to attempt it. She dug deep into her fëa, forcing it upward, trying to channel it from her to Maethor, to focus on thoughts of love and healing.
Nothing happened.
"Maethor," her voice cracked, "it's going to be okay. I'm going to make it okay somehow." She squeezed his fingers in hers.
Maethor tugged her closer until her ear was between the bars, hovering over his lips. "Haedirn is asleep," he whispered. Charlotte's blood ran cold, and she darted her eyes to Haedirn's crumpled form. "It is in the food. Do not trust them."
His eyes fluttered, and Charlotte watched in panic as the guards trooped past her door to inspect Haedirn, skipping Maethor altogether. "Maethor too!" She shouted. Still, the guards hesitated.
"Step away from him," one of the guards said.
Charlotte jerked her head up. At her cell door, two guards stood side-by-side, their bows held firmly in their grip—two glinting arrowheads aimed for her chest.
Her blood slowed, her limbs going cold. If she didn't move, they wouldn't enter Maethor and Haedirn's cells. She slowly, gently laid Maethor's hand on his chest, raised her fingers above her shoulders, and stepped back to the far side of her own cell. Each step sent lighting blazing through her lungs.
Three guards peeled away from the pack and slipped into Maethor's cell to check him over. Maethor's eyelids fluttered, but he shook himself and kept his gaze on hers.
She watched, mind racing, as they poked and prodded her guards, pressing their pointed ears to chests and hovering their hands beneath noses. If Haedirn was asleep… If it was the river curse… Haedirn had very little time before he would succumb to the nightmares and grief. Maethor would follow behind him.
Charlotte could taste the blood in her mouth and carefully unlatched her teeth from her lip. Legolas might be screaming in the healing hall already, suffering with no one there to comfort him. And now, two of her closest friends in the world, in her entire life, would be right behind him.
The guard in Haedirn's cell flicked his gaze to her and frowned. His face was so familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. "He is unconscious," the guard said, "like the others."
Acid rose in her throat, and her stomach twisted. What had she unleashed? What demon had she unintentionally armed?
The guard inspecting Maethor said, "He will succumb soon as well. If we're to move him, we must do so now."
"Drag them to the healing hall," the familiar ellon ordered. "They will be of no threat to anyone while subjected to the curse."
"No," Maethor growled. He wrapped his hands around the bars. "Dínenor, you cannot leave her. She is not safe!"
Dínenor. The ellon who sometimes stood guard outside of the Royal Chambers. With no one in residence, had Cúthon reassigned him?
"Get him to the healing halls, now!" The familiar elf, Dínenor, barked.
Maethor put up a decent fight, considering his consciousness was fading quickly, but in the end, they pried his weak fingers from the iron and lifted him between two of them so that his legs dragged behind him.
"Stay awake," Maethor called blearily to her, still thrashing in their grip. "Don't fall asleep. Stay awake as long as you can!"
Charlotte nodded, though he couldn't see it, and she watched them drag her guards up the stairs, leaving her alone in the dungeons. They didn't come back.
She spent the morning chewing her nails down to the quick and pacing her cage. Her face felt swollen and hot from crying, and she'd long ago grown thirsty, but in a pique of grief and rage, she'd thrown the goblet and the plate against the stone. The wine looked like blood trickling down the wall.
The least they could have done was tell her that her guards were safe! She'd shouted up the stairs to ask multiple times and received no answer. They'd locked her in darkness, in silence, and she was coming off her adrenaline high to wallow in fatigue. If she fell asleep without Maethor and Haedirn nearby to shield her, she had little chance of surviving another summoning from Mairon.
"I do wonder..." an oily voice said.
Charlotte spun, her hand clutched to her heart. Cúthon was studying her through the bars, his head cocked to the side. "I wonder," he continued, "what terrible thing will befall you should you sleep? Your guards seemed rather adamant that you remain awake."
Of course, one of the guards would report back to him. She glared, her arms tightening across her chest, and then her stomach fell to her feet as she realized the letters were missing from her gown. Maethor still had them, which meant Cúthon might already know that they broke into the archives.
Still, there was a chance he didn't. Charlotte chucked her chin up. "What can I do for you, Cúthon?"
"Lord Cúthon," he corrected, straightening his cuffs. "I've come to inform you that your trial commences in the morning."
Charlotte froze, her knuckles going pale against her side. "Tomorrow? But Thranduil won't be back by tomorrow. You have no authority to—"
Cúthon's eye's flashed, and he pressed himself so close to her door that his nose peeked through the bars. "I am the only authority here now." He stepped back and brushed his impeccable tunic off with a quick slash. "Besides, after you cast our beloved prince into an eternal sleep, who would come to your defense? Hmm?"
"I did not harm Legolas."
"But that doesn't matter, does it?" Cúthon mocked. He tapped the iron bars as if he were inspecting them. "And now, if Thranduil comes home, he'll find his son essentially dead by the hand of his secret lover. Grief is such a powerful thing for elves." He sighed.
"You son of a bitch." She never suspected he'd be capable of this. Spiteful? Yes. Jealous. Absolutely. But Thranduil had always sworn that Cúthon cared for the elves of Eryn Galen, that he would always do what was best for his people. She supposed that was still true; Cúthon just believed that he was the best for the Silvan elves.
Charlotte shook her head. Thranduil was an excellent king; his people agreed. She'd seen the affection and reverence in their interactions with him. Cúthon was blind. "None of this guarantees you the power you crave so badly," she said.
"Ah," he grinned, "but a marriage does."
She jerked back. How could he possibly still hope to marry his daughter off to Thranduil? Could he truly be that delusional? Unless… Legolas had been quite insistent that he'd seen the contract signed and sealed.
"It was you," she whispered. All the letters, the orders, the marriage contract. He'd almost gotten them all killed! "You've been forging Thranduil's seal. You didn't just target Legolas because he was the next in line or because it would trap me. If Thranduil and Lothuial had truly been married, Lothuial would've reigned until Legolas was old enough. No. You went after Legolas because he saw you forging the marriage contract, didn't he? He saw you using the seal! And you knew he'd eventually figure out the contract was a forgery."
What he didn't know was Thranduil and Charlotte had already told Legolas about their relationship. Cúthon would never have been able to convince him of a contract between Thranduil and Lothuial.
Cúthon dared to shrug at her. "Do not place your failures at my feet," he said. "I did not enchant the river or create the curse."
"How?" she bit out. When he raised a brow in question, she elaborated. "How did you manage to curse Legolas? And Galion?"
"Galion," he scoffed. "Galion cursed himself."
Charlotte shook her head. What did that even mean? Galion was too drunk half the time to— "The wine," she whispered. "You poisoned Thranduil's wine. You were aiming for him first." Horror etched into the twist of her mouth. "You have been his advisor for over a hundred years, and you would so easily murder him for power? Cast his son into pain and shadows for a slim chance at ruling? You do not deserve such a position, nor would you understand its sacrifices."
"Do not speak to me of sacrifice," he barked. His hands wrapped around the bars of her cage as if hoping they could be around her neck instead. "I have more than earned their allegiance! The things I have done to ensure their safety, the sacrifices I have made! You have no place here among us."
"You've done this before, haven't you? Murdered someone else?"
Cúthon pulled away from the bars, and for a brief moment, shame flashed across his eyes before they hardened. "I am the representative for my people, and I must safeguard them."
But Charlotte had finally put all the pieces together. If Cúthon had been responsible for all the forged seals, then he was responsible for the order that moved the wardens and almost got them all killed. And she had a strong hypothesis about who had been targeted the last time he'd issued such an order.
She pressed herself against the bars, rage evident in her fiery eyes. "Bit of a signature move, huh, Cúthon?" She sniped. "Moving the wardens around and leaving someone undefended? Tell me, did your wife know that you arranged for the wardens to be moved when she joined Queen Renieth for a ride that day?"
Cúthon flinched, and Charlotte knew she'd found the truth. "She didn't, did she?" Charlotte said. She shoved back from the bars. "Grief and shame are powerful things for elves indeed."
"She understood that our people were being used," Cúthon hissed. "Fodder for Noldor battles! Who would defend my people? Not your Sindarin king, so eager to head to war, so eager for my people to race to the slaughter. Finally, they will have a true leader." He tugged his cuffs so forcefully, they nearly tore, and glass shattered across the stone. The splatter from the liquid inside looked like a star had burst.
"No matter." He shrugged, smirking at her. "Thanks to you, I have an endless supply less than a day's ride away. Though it is clear to me now that you'll require a more expedient sentencing. Such a shame that you passed into Mandos' care before your trial… an unfortunate accident when you tried to escape before justice could be administered. Your trial is set for dawn, but I'm sure we'll see each other much sooner. Sleep well." He grinned, showing nearly all of his teeth.
She slammed her hands against the bars with a shriek. There was no way out. Maethor and Haedirn had tried already, and if they couldn't get out, she would never be able to do it herself. She slid to the floor, stretching her aching legs and dropping her face into her hands. The best she could do was stay awake and pray a chance for escape would come.
Cúthon came for her in the early hours of the morning. Three guards filed in behind him, and one of the ellyn dangled thick coils of rope from his hand. She was oddly glad to see her captors, considering she had been jamming her shoulder against a sharp rock in the wall and fighting her eyelids.
"Restrain her," Cúthon said lazily.
Charlotte tried to dodge them, and when that failed, she slammed, kicked, scratched, and clawed at them. If she could just get out of the cell and up the stairs, she might be able to find her way out. She desperately missed Amroth's dagger.
She fought like she was some feral beast, pulled from the forest, but the battle was short-lived. Three highly trained ellyn against one starving exhausted elleth? It must've been comical for Cúthon to watch. He did seem overly pleased from his safe vantage point outside the cell.
Two of the guards held her smashed against a wall while the third tied her hands behind her. She tensed her muscles and pulled her hands as far apart as she could, but Cúthon said, "Make sure it's tight. If the stories are to be trusted, she's slipped like a snake from ropes before."
Her wrists were shoved painfully together, and the rope pulled so tightly, she swore they'd cut through to the bone. It was terrifying to see that there was still another stretch of rope in the ellon's hands by the end of it. He didn't move to tie it on her but grabbed her bound wrists and nudged her forward.
"Kinslayer," Charlotte spit at Cúthon.
His grin faltered briefly, but he managed to plaster on his superior smile. "No more from your ill mouth. It is time to send you home to your master."
She thrashed against the guards. "What the hell does that mean?"
But Cúthon was silent, taking the lead and escorting them down the stairs, further into the dungeon. Where was he taking her? She had expected them to go up, not down. Nothing good could be waiting for her at the bottom of a dungeon.
Maethor and Haedirn had never shown her this section on their tour of the caverns. It hadn't made sense to include it. So she had no idea where in the caverns she was, let alone how to find the singular exit she knew of from Meluieth's brief visit.
The stairs zigzagged past cell after cell. Some were large enough for multiple people, and others… she was grateful she hadn't been placed in the ones that were so small they provided only enough room for a single person to stand within.
But all the doors she passed were fitted with iron bars; not a single one offered her an escape. She was just about to take her chances and attempt to throw her guards down the stairs, dashing for the exit at the top, when they rounded the corner, pouring through an archway onto a high ledge. Below her, the familiar racks of barrels climbed the chamber walls.
"Thranduil's cellar," Charlotte said, awed. Her eyes flew to the staircase on the far side of the room. How many days had it been since Thranduil had playfully tugged her down those steps? How many hours since she'd run her fingers through his hair and tasted his lips on her tongue? The kitchens were just beyond those stairs. Could she make it?
The guard yanked her flush against him by her ropes. "Do not," he warned.
"Carry her if you must," Cúthon said impatiently. "It won't be long before the morning meal, and I must be present with the king and prince unavailable."
"Because of you!" Charlotte hissed.
The guards holding her hesitated, and Cúthon, realizing that a seed of doubt had been planted, quickly turned on her. "Do not defile my character in your quest to avoid your judgment."
Faith restored, the guards nudged her down the steps, lifting her when she dragged her feet. She needed something, anything… the smell of cooking meat wafted down the corridor, and she regretted that she'd go to her death hungry. At least it smelled good. Of course, anything Idhrenes made—
Idhrenes!
"Idhrenes!" She screamed. The words came out so sharp and loud she was sure she'd strip her throat raw. "Idhrenes, help! Help me! He killed them! He killed them, and he poisoned Legolas and—"
"Gag her, if you must," Cúthon raged. His eye twitched above his snarling lips.
"IDHRENES!"
A hand clamped over her mouth, and she bit it.
"IDHRENES!"
"Silence. Her," Cúthon snapped.
"We're trying!"
She kicked and flailed, screaming as Cúthon ripped off his cloak and spun it into a roll. Charlotte pinched her lips to keep him from jamming the fabric in.
"Open your mouth again, and this goes in, understand?"
Charlotte nodded, but the moment he turned, she screamed again. Cúthon was quick; he jammed the length of it between her open lips and tied it behind her head before she could push out the fabric. He had been waiting for her to do something stupid, knew she wouldn't give up so easily. She hadn't had a choice; if Idhrenes didn't come, Charlotte would die anyway.
Tears and hatred burned in her gaze as the ellyn positioned her at the far end of the room in the odd barren space she'd wondered about. The single lever grew ominously out of the floor, and Cúthon already rested his hand against the handle. Panic raced in her heart when she discovered the purpose for the second length of rope. The guard was quick to tie her ankles together until she could barely waddle, winding it up and around her gown, so the fabric bunched between the rope layers.
She whimpered through the coarse fabric in her mouth, trying to force her feet forward when the guards suddenly quit her side.
"Charlotte…" Cúthon began, "well, you really don't have an Elven name any longer, do you? Quite a fall from grace, do you not agree? And an apt ending to the trauma you have inflicted upon Eryn Galen." His fingers rolled across the iron lever. He clenched the top, knuckles curling over the trigger. "For the crimes of dark sorcery and your failed attempt to murder seventeen elves, including His Highness, Prince Legolas of Eryn Galen, you are resigned to the Halls of Mandos, where you will await your Doom at his hands."
He turned to each of his guards and gave them a solemn nod. "Let us hope that by purging the Dark Lord's servant from our realm, so too will his darkness recede from our forest."
Charlotte had barely made it a foot, bound as she was from head to toe, when Cúthon squeezed the trigger on the handle and pulled the lever back. The floor tilted beneath her, the wood dropping under her feet like a giant seesaw, and her eyes widened as she slid along the length of the boards, unable to see what was behind her.
The floorboards rose, higher and higher, until Cúthon's hateful smirk vanished. She fought to stay upright. Her toes curled in her boots. The trap door reached its pinnacle, and her feet slid off the wood, plunging her into the awaiting darkness.
AN: I apologize for the lack of scene dividers. I was using three centered asterisks, but I've only just now realized that they've been eliminated every single time I save the document here. Back to the drawing board... On a happier note: Thank you for your lovely comments! I'll definitely check out The White Queen! :) You all were right: Cuthon's actions have come to light, at least for Charlotte. I can't wait to hear your thoughts!