A young man with red hair deposited the bucket onto the desk with a unpleasant sloshing sound and wiped his hands on the black apron he wore over his uniform, "here's the slop."
The Dungeon Master, a powerfully built man with an exquisitely bald and shiny head glanced up from his breakfast, which he had just began, and surveyed his son with a look that failed to show the tenderness he felt. He was, on the whole, an unfeeling man, but he loved his son more than anything and had pulled quite a few strings to get his son the position he had as a kitchen worker instead of a soldier, so that he wouldn't be killed him battle. He rose to his feet, towering over his five foot seven son, and glanced down the row of cells, "how are things in the kitchen?"
Trey ran his hand through his vivid hair and shrugged, "busy, ever since the daughter arrived."
The Dungeon Master nodded, "have you seen her yet?"
"Briefly," the red-haired boy adjusted his apron and followed his father's glance toward the prison cells, "she looks like every other MoonElf, big black eyes and loads of silver hair."
The Dungeon Master studied his son, feeling pride surge through him and wishing he could take the young man in his arms and tell him, just once, how much he loved him. He sighed inwardly, thinking of the irony that he could lift three men into the air and throw them without a care. Yet he didn't have the strength to show any emotion toward his only son, the only thing he had left of the woman he'd loved with all his heart until she'd died in an accident seventeen years earlier.
Trey watched his father's dark eyes, feeling small and insufficient. He knew he was a failure in his father's eyes, not to mention a constant reminder of his dead mother. It burned his heart that his father didn't think he was worthy to serve in the Dark Lord's army. He loved his father more than anything and it hurt him that he wasn't a better son.
A ragged cry erupted from one of the cells farther down the hall, jolting both father and son back to reality.
The Dungeon Master shifted his weight and grabbed the bucket, "gotta feed the prisoners," he grunted and pushed past Trey.
Watching his father move to the first cell and ladle some slop into the trough like container attached to the inside of the door, Trey felt tears stinging his eyes. He turned and fled from the dungeon, his apron flapping around his knees as he ran. When he reached the entrance he nearly collided with someone. Through his tears he saw a tall man with dark hair and two MoonElf females. Pressing himself against the wall, he squirmed past them and ran back toward the kitchen.
Aragorn watched the Dungeon Master as he ladled slop into the cell that was three down from the one that held Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. He leaned his head against the bar and sighed, trying to think of what to do, trying not to think of how he had failed.
He was a failure. He had failed the quest. He had failed Gimli and Legolas. He'd failed Merry and Pippin. He'd failed Boromir. He'd failed Frodo and Sam. He'd failed Elrond and Galadriel. He'd failed Savina. He'd failed Arwen. He'd failed Middle-Earth.
Feeling hot tears rise in his eyes, he pulled away from the bars of the cell and turned to look at his fellow cellmates.
Gimli sat in the middle of the floor, his chin resting on his chest, dozing fitfully. His right hand kept clenching and unclenching, feeling around on the ground for his axe, which had been taken away and put on a shelf at the entrance of the dungeon. His beard was impossibly tangled and matted with the filth that surrounded them.
Legolas crouched in the corner, refusing to sit on the filthy floor, and stared glumly at the floor, his blue eyes unfocused. He hadn't spoken a word since they had been put in the cell and Aragorn hadn't bothered him.
Aragorn scratched his chin, wincing as he caught a whiff of whatever it was they were supposed to eat.
The old man in the next cell attacked the food that appeared in his trough with relish, shoving it into his mouth with his filthy hands and grunting like a pig.
The Dungeon Master reached their cell, which was the last one, and pushed the ladle through the bars and dumped a good sized clump of "food" into the bowl-like container of the inside of the door. Seeing that no one even took notice of him, he put the ladle back in the bucket and stared in at them and smiled unpleasantly, "I'd eat up if I were you, you will be put to work soon enough."
Aragorn fixed his eyes on the Dungeon Master, not even bothering to glance at the slop, "we won't raise our hands in any way that could benefit the Dark Lord," he replied vehemently.
The Dungeon Master appeared highly amused, "that might have gotten you killed a few days ago, but yesterday the daughter showed up. She was thought to be dead but yesterday she showed up, one of the walking dead found her wandering around a mile away, all by herself."
Something clicked in Aragorn's mind, "the daughter?"
"Of course you wouldn't know, only arriving two days ago," the Dungeon Master scratched the back of his neck, "the Dark Lord needs two things to complete his power; the one ring of power and a new body. Apparently he took over some MoonElf man's body a few years ago and now he needs the man's daughter to make the switch easier or something."
Dread rose in Aragorn's chest, he glanced at Legolas, who had looked up for the first time in two days and looked as though a similar thought had occurred to him. Aragorn cleared his throat, "you know all this?"
The Dungeon Master shrugged, "the Dark Lord has no need for secrets." He gave Aragorn a look of sharp suspicion, "why such interest?"
Aragorn was saved from replying by a man's voice calling from the entrance of the dungeon, "Nordin! Are you here?"
Unaccustomed to being called by his first name, the Dungeon Master spun around, nearly dropping the bucket and rushed back down the row of cells, "General Naheka?"
Naheka cringed at the smell of the dungeons, then smiled weakly at the Dungeon Master, "as you know, the daughter had arrived," the Dungeon Master nodded, "and I agreed to give her a walkthrough of the Tower, starting with the dungeons. So if we could just…"
The Dungeon Master hurriedly set the bucket down and wiped his hands off, "yes, yes, of course! I've just finished feeding them." He squeezed himself back against the wall to let them pass.
The General strode past him, peering into each of the cells as he passed, muttering something about "a pathetic lot."
Nordin stared at the girl who he presumed to be the daughter, a small girl with silver hair and black eyes, like his son had told him. He marveled at how small she was, when he thought of a body that would house the spirit of the Dark Lord, he'd expected something grander, larger, stronger…not a mere slip of a girl.
She turned her dark eyes on him and gazed at him for a second, seeming to absorb him into the dark pool in her eyes, then blinked, turned, and began walking down the row of cells, glancing this way and that.
Savina's heart was beating hard in her chest; she was nowhere near as calm as she appeared. She peered into a cell housing a few MoonElf, who glared at her, then into a cell housing an old man with what looked like vomit running down his chin and onto the front of his filthy, grime covered shirt.
Her heart sank; there was only one cell left, which she couldn't see into because Naheka was standing in the way. What were the odds that they would be in that one cell? She wasn't sure if she would rather have them out in the sun working or stuck in a cell down in this sludge hole.
Naheka misunderstood her expression and stepped foreword, "these maggots won't be here long, as soon as the ring is found they will be put to death during the celebration."
"Wonderful," Savina said in a choked voice, staring at the floor.
Aragorn straightened up, he knew that voice. His heart rose as he caught sight of her over the General's shoulder.
She noticed him at the same time and gasped, then covered her mouth, realizing what she'd done.
Naheka turned and stared into the cell, his hand on his sword, seeing only a human, an elf, and a sleeping dwarf, all covered in grime, he returned his gaze to her, "is something wrong?"
Legolas rose to his feet and rushed to the front of the cell, looking between the bars, overjoyed at the sight of her.
"Do you know them?" Naheka asked Savina suspiciously.
Realizing that the whole situation and fate of Middle Earth was resting on the edge of a blade, Savina recovered and her dark eyes turned cold. "Yes, I do know them. They were the group that I was traveling with on my way to reunite myself with my father. They had a foolish quest to save friends of theirs that had been taken."
Legolas made no noise, he stood, clenching the bars with white hands, his face as pale as snow and his expression that of one who has been stabbed in the back by the one they love.
Aragorn studied Savina closely, wondering if she was pretending, if she had a plan in mind.
Gimli awoke with a snort and spotted Savina, "Savina!"
Naheka laughed and unsheathed his sword, "shall I kill them?"
Savina longed to tell them the truth, but she couldn't, she so shrugged, "no."
Aragorn sighed in relief.
Then she continued, hoping they would catch the hint, "I'll kill them myself the moment the ring is found, along with the two hobbits from the kitchen." With that she spun and started walking back to the entrance, "come, Olivia, the stench is making me sick."
Naheka, with one last, suspicious glance at Aragorn, turned and stalked out of the dungeon with the Dungeon Master at his heels, seeing him out.
Gimli stared at Aragorn in openmouthed shock, "she's not…serious?"
Aragorn shook his head, "she can't be. She wouldn't turn on us for anything." Except maybe the father she's been searching for for two years, he added mentally. "She spoke of two hobbits from the kitchen, that can only be Merry and Pippin, perhaps she was giving us a clue." He glanced at Legolas, whose face was devoid of all emotion, "don't worry, Legolas."
Legolas spoke the first words he'd spoken in two days, "I was a fool."