Elessar woke back in the cell. The chain at his neck had been fixed to a
ring in the floor so that he couldn't lift his head more than a few inches
from the stone. His hands were tied behind him again, the ropes digging
painfully into his wrists. In front of him was a bowl of water, but because
of his bonds the only way to drink was to put his face to the bowl like an
animal. Clearly that had been their intent.
His throat was parched, and his head aching from dehydration, but he didn't want to give them to pleasure of seeing him act like an animal. At last he could bear it no more and decided to drink. He checked the room to make sure there was no one watching, before placing his mouth into the bowl. It was messy, and water spilled out onto the floor, but he drank enough to soothe his throat.
No sooner had he finished, than the door opened and his captors entered, the orcs following behind. They laughed at his position, and he could do nothing but glare.
"Only a beast would drink from the floor," one sneered.
"Then we must put him to fitting tasks again." He waved his hand to the orcs, who came and released the chain from the ring so that he could be hauled to his feet. His feet screamed in agony as he put his weight on them. He bit back a cry and looked down at the mangled mess. Dried blood coated the bare skin. His reaction only caused more laughter from the orcs.
As the chain was tugged violently he began to move forward. His feet protested every step but he was given no choice. He staggered out of the cell, only to have the orc yank on the chain again. He was pulled forwards, and put his foot out to regain his balance. But he trod too hard, and his foot couldn't take it.
He almost cried out as he hit the floor, an arm pinned between his body and the floor. His feet throbbed and he could see blood spilling from reopened cuts.
"Is that the best you can manage, beast?" Hands yanked him to his feet again and pushed him onwards. He managed a few steps before falling again. How he made it to the room he didn't know, everything was seen through a haze of pain. His body was covered with bruises from his many falls, and his feet felt as though someone had lit a fire inside them.
When he stood in the torture room he was almost glad not to have to walk, then they pushed him towards the wheel. His vision blurred with pain, and he barely noticed that the wheel itself was closer to the ground than last time.
"A beast should walk on four legs," one of the men said.
"Then why do you stand on two?" Elessar's insult was met with a fist across his jaw, but he barely felt it over the pain in his feet.
"You will pay for that!" the man snapped, fury on his face. Then the orcs shoved Elessar to the wheel. But this time they forced him to his knees beneath it. The height of the wheel meant he couldn't stand, even if his feet had been up to it. They fixed the chain to the wheel above Elessar's head, and then freed his hands. He knew what going to happen. Soon the wheel would start moving and he would be forced to crawl beneath it for hours as he had been forced to walk.
As expected, the wheel soon jerked into motion, and he crawled. At least this way he didn't have to put any weight on his feet. It wasn't long however before his knees were sore, and no doubt would be as painful as his feet before this was over.
He was beginning to tire from this monotonous activity, and his pace slowed slightly. Too much. The chain yanked forwards, pulling the collar tightly around his neck. He couldn't breathe! His vision swam and he hurried forwards a few paces, until he could pull air into his lungs again.
He crawled on, careful now to keep the chain slack so that he didn't risk choking himself. His knees were scraped and cut, and two thin circles of red marked his progress round the post.
His wrists, already bruised and cut from the ropes hurt every time he put weight on them and his shoulders ached. When his wrist finally couldn't take it and gave under him, he couldn't pull himself back up fast enough. The chain pulled forwards, the collar digging into his throat. His lungs screamed for air, and he tried to pry his fingers underneath to release the pressure but it was too tight.
Pain seared through his chest as he was towed along the ground and darkness began to overwhelm him as he fought for breath. He fought even as he felt his life slipping away from him the darkness took him completely.
***
Sal looked into the burning eyes. The face they were set in was no longer important. All that mattered were the eyes that stared into his, burning into his soul. He could still feel the blood on his hands, the blood that was now inside him. The fire of it burned throughout his body now, even into his heart.
"You are mine," the eyes said.
"No," Sal replied.
"There is no sense in resisting. You have been mine since you struck me down. By blood in yours. My spirit in yours."
"I am myself! You cannot have me!"
"I will have you as easily as I had Boromir. You will not be able to resist. You will watch helplessly as your own hands kill your friends."
He thought immediately of Elessar, and guilt filled him. He was supposed to protect him, and he'd failed. He'd been weak.
"You cannot fight me," the eyes said.
Sal opened his eyes, the memory of the eyes still clear in his mind. The dream was gone, but he could still see their fire. Then he realised, it wasn't their fire that was tinting his vision. It was the fire that burned in his own. He was awake, and all his nightmares were real.
***
Author's note: Evil takes on a whole new level when I get involved. Please review, or I might have second thoughts about updating.
His throat was parched, and his head aching from dehydration, but he didn't want to give them to pleasure of seeing him act like an animal. At last he could bear it no more and decided to drink. He checked the room to make sure there was no one watching, before placing his mouth into the bowl. It was messy, and water spilled out onto the floor, but he drank enough to soothe his throat.
No sooner had he finished, than the door opened and his captors entered, the orcs following behind. They laughed at his position, and he could do nothing but glare.
"Only a beast would drink from the floor," one sneered.
"Then we must put him to fitting tasks again." He waved his hand to the orcs, who came and released the chain from the ring so that he could be hauled to his feet. His feet screamed in agony as he put his weight on them. He bit back a cry and looked down at the mangled mess. Dried blood coated the bare skin. His reaction only caused more laughter from the orcs.
As the chain was tugged violently he began to move forward. His feet protested every step but he was given no choice. He staggered out of the cell, only to have the orc yank on the chain again. He was pulled forwards, and put his foot out to regain his balance. But he trod too hard, and his foot couldn't take it.
He almost cried out as he hit the floor, an arm pinned between his body and the floor. His feet throbbed and he could see blood spilling from reopened cuts.
"Is that the best you can manage, beast?" Hands yanked him to his feet again and pushed him onwards. He managed a few steps before falling again. How he made it to the room he didn't know, everything was seen through a haze of pain. His body was covered with bruises from his many falls, and his feet felt as though someone had lit a fire inside them.
When he stood in the torture room he was almost glad not to have to walk, then they pushed him towards the wheel. His vision blurred with pain, and he barely noticed that the wheel itself was closer to the ground than last time.
"A beast should walk on four legs," one of the men said.
"Then why do you stand on two?" Elessar's insult was met with a fist across his jaw, but he barely felt it over the pain in his feet.
"You will pay for that!" the man snapped, fury on his face. Then the orcs shoved Elessar to the wheel. But this time they forced him to his knees beneath it. The height of the wheel meant he couldn't stand, even if his feet had been up to it. They fixed the chain to the wheel above Elessar's head, and then freed his hands. He knew what going to happen. Soon the wheel would start moving and he would be forced to crawl beneath it for hours as he had been forced to walk.
As expected, the wheel soon jerked into motion, and he crawled. At least this way he didn't have to put any weight on his feet. It wasn't long however before his knees were sore, and no doubt would be as painful as his feet before this was over.
He was beginning to tire from this monotonous activity, and his pace slowed slightly. Too much. The chain yanked forwards, pulling the collar tightly around his neck. He couldn't breathe! His vision swam and he hurried forwards a few paces, until he could pull air into his lungs again.
He crawled on, careful now to keep the chain slack so that he didn't risk choking himself. His knees were scraped and cut, and two thin circles of red marked his progress round the post.
His wrists, already bruised and cut from the ropes hurt every time he put weight on them and his shoulders ached. When his wrist finally couldn't take it and gave under him, he couldn't pull himself back up fast enough. The chain pulled forwards, the collar digging into his throat. His lungs screamed for air, and he tried to pry his fingers underneath to release the pressure but it was too tight.
Pain seared through his chest as he was towed along the ground and darkness began to overwhelm him as he fought for breath. He fought even as he felt his life slipping away from him the darkness took him completely.
***
Sal looked into the burning eyes. The face they were set in was no longer important. All that mattered were the eyes that stared into his, burning into his soul. He could still feel the blood on his hands, the blood that was now inside him. The fire of it burned throughout his body now, even into his heart.
"You are mine," the eyes said.
"No," Sal replied.
"There is no sense in resisting. You have been mine since you struck me down. By blood in yours. My spirit in yours."
"I am myself! You cannot have me!"
"I will have you as easily as I had Boromir. You will not be able to resist. You will watch helplessly as your own hands kill your friends."
He thought immediately of Elessar, and guilt filled him. He was supposed to protect him, and he'd failed. He'd been weak.
"You cannot fight me," the eyes said.
Sal opened his eyes, the memory of the eyes still clear in his mind. The dream was gone, but he could still see their fire. Then he realised, it wasn't their fire that was tinting his vision. It was the fire that burned in his own. He was awake, and all his nightmares were real.
***
Author's note: Evil takes on a whole new level when I get involved. Please review, or I might have second thoughts about updating.