Parlond's body was adorned with bruises. He had woken alone in the cell,
his head throbbing with pain. Since then he had lain on the ground, or sat
leaning back against a wall. His hands and feet were bound tightly, and
most of his body ached from beatings.
He was afraid of what would happen, and afraid of what might already be happening to the king. He had failed in his duty as a bodyguard. Logically he knew that he had no hope of defending against an army of orcs, but still the guilt remained. He was a failure.
The orcs had left him alone with his feelings, knowing that they would be as great a torture as anything they could do to him. At last the door opened and orcs came in. Parlond tried to draw himself back against the wall instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
The orcs cut the ropes that bound his ankles, and Parlond kicked the nearest orc. Another quickly hit Parlond over the head. He was stunned for a moment, disorientated from the blow, and that was long enough for the orcs to grab him by the arms and pull him to his feet. They hauled him through the door, Parlond stumbling along with them while he recovered his senses.
Parlond was taken to a large room, and instinctive fear took over as he saw the contents. Instruments of torture filled it. He tried to pull away from the orcs, to flee. But he was struck again, and dragged forcefully into the room. They pulled him over to where chains hung from the ceiling, and fixed his hands in them. He struggled all the while, but there was no way for him to escape. The chains went through loops in the ceiling and then came down one wall. Once his hands were secure in the manacles, an orc pulled the chain that hung down the wall so that Parlond was raised just above the ground.
The force of his weight pulled down on his shoulders and made the manacles dig painfully on his wrists. He watched as the orcs milled around him, snarling and laughing. He hung there, wondering terrified what they would do to him.
In a few moments King Elessar was hauled in by the orcs. Naked. Parlond filled with pity as he saw the damage his body had suffered. There were bruises everywhere, and shallow cuts covered his chest and legs. On the lower part of his face was a strange, metal mask. It covered his mouth and was held to his face by leather straps, but it wasn't solid metal. Two pieces met at his mouth, and there was a lever between them.
The king looked at Parlond as he was brought in, and Parlond could see the pain on his face as the orcs chained him in front of him. A man walked in and went across to Elessar.
"You will pay for your insult, beast," he snarled. He held in his hand a bottle filled with a black liquid. Parlond was forced to watch as the man reached for the lever in the mask. He pressed it and the king's mouth snapped open, held there by pieces of metal. The king tried to pull away, but orcs grabbed his head and held it still. As the man poured the liquid down his throat and moved the lever back, shutting Elessar's mouth, he had no choice but to swallow.
Parlond saw the expression on the king's face, and knew he couldn't even imagine the pain he was feeling.
***
Sal was lying on a soft bed, softer than any he had slept in for years. He wanted to look round at the rest of the room, but found his body wouldn't obey his commands. He stared upwards with burning eyes at what the thing inside of him wanted him to see. Inside, he was screaming, trying to move, trying to see through that veil of red.
'You are weak,' a voice said in his mind, 'You cannot fight me.'
Suddenly he stood, stepping off the bed into the room, but it wasn't Sal who had commanded his body to do so. He was filled by a terrible fear that he would spend the rest of his life watching while his body acted out another's deeds.
The room was ornately furnished, and not very orclike. Carved chairs stood by rich wooden tables, oak panels lined the walls. But for all its splendour, there was nothing beautiful in the room. It was all dark and oppressive. Only one thing in the room wasn't, something Sal caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye, but was unable to turn his head to look at.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," Sal heard his own voice call. The door did, and a man entered, dropping to a knee and bowing his head.
"My lord," the man said, "your presence honours us."
"Rise, Garthrin, you have made your preparations well."
"Thank you, my lord." The man rose to his feet, but kept his head bowed respectfully, or perhaps fearfully. Sal wondered how Sauron had been able to give his orders, since he seemed to exist now inside him. He supposed he would have little choice but to find out.
"Are the other preparations I ordered complete?"
"They are, my lord."
"And the king?"
"The king and his companion are secure. We have begun working on them. Do you wish to watch?"
"Yes." Sal could imagine what they meant by 'working on them' and wanted to do anything other than watch. He had watched Elessar beaten once before and it had been more than he could bear. He had no doubt whatever these people did to him would be far worse.
'Do not fear,' said the voice in his mind, 'I will not make the mistake of keeping your friend alive for long.' Sal wondered if Sauron could sense his thoughts. He was inside his mind after all.
That became the least of his worries as he turned unwillingly to the thing he had noticed earlier. The thing which didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the room. While he had wanted to see it earlier, now it just served to increase his fear. Fortune lay on a table, and Sal walked towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp the hilt.
'I think the king's gift should be returned to him.'
***
Author's note: Evil incarnate? Me? Keep reviewing and I might get nicer. Emphasis on the might, I'm still trying to decide whether or not to kill Sal.
He was afraid of what would happen, and afraid of what might already be happening to the king. He had failed in his duty as a bodyguard. Logically he knew that he had no hope of defending against an army of orcs, but still the guilt remained. He was a failure.
The orcs had left him alone with his feelings, knowing that they would be as great a torture as anything they could do to him. At last the door opened and orcs came in. Parlond tried to draw himself back against the wall instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
The orcs cut the ropes that bound his ankles, and Parlond kicked the nearest orc. Another quickly hit Parlond over the head. He was stunned for a moment, disorientated from the blow, and that was long enough for the orcs to grab him by the arms and pull him to his feet. They hauled him through the door, Parlond stumbling along with them while he recovered his senses.
Parlond was taken to a large room, and instinctive fear took over as he saw the contents. Instruments of torture filled it. He tried to pull away from the orcs, to flee. But he was struck again, and dragged forcefully into the room. They pulled him over to where chains hung from the ceiling, and fixed his hands in them. He struggled all the while, but there was no way for him to escape. The chains went through loops in the ceiling and then came down one wall. Once his hands were secure in the manacles, an orc pulled the chain that hung down the wall so that Parlond was raised just above the ground.
The force of his weight pulled down on his shoulders and made the manacles dig painfully on his wrists. He watched as the orcs milled around him, snarling and laughing. He hung there, wondering terrified what they would do to him.
In a few moments King Elessar was hauled in by the orcs. Naked. Parlond filled with pity as he saw the damage his body had suffered. There were bruises everywhere, and shallow cuts covered his chest and legs. On the lower part of his face was a strange, metal mask. It covered his mouth and was held to his face by leather straps, but it wasn't solid metal. Two pieces met at his mouth, and there was a lever between them.
The king looked at Parlond as he was brought in, and Parlond could see the pain on his face as the orcs chained him in front of him. A man walked in and went across to Elessar.
"You will pay for your insult, beast," he snarled. He held in his hand a bottle filled with a black liquid. Parlond was forced to watch as the man reached for the lever in the mask. He pressed it and the king's mouth snapped open, held there by pieces of metal. The king tried to pull away, but orcs grabbed his head and held it still. As the man poured the liquid down his throat and moved the lever back, shutting Elessar's mouth, he had no choice but to swallow.
Parlond saw the expression on the king's face, and knew he couldn't even imagine the pain he was feeling.
***
Sal was lying on a soft bed, softer than any he had slept in for years. He wanted to look round at the rest of the room, but found his body wouldn't obey his commands. He stared upwards with burning eyes at what the thing inside of him wanted him to see. Inside, he was screaming, trying to move, trying to see through that veil of red.
'You are weak,' a voice said in his mind, 'You cannot fight me.'
Suddenly he stood, stepping off the bed into the room, but it wasn't Sal who had commanded his body to do so. He was filled by a terrible fear that he would spend the rest of his life watching while his body acted out another's deeds.
The room was ornately furnished, and not very orclike. Carved chairs stood by rich wooden tables, oak panels lined the walls. But for all its splendour, there was nothing beautiful in the room. It was all dark and oppressive. Only one thing in the room wasn't, something Sal caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye, but was unable to turn his head to look at.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," Sal heard his own voice call. The door did, and a man entered, dropping to a knee and bowing his head.
"My lord," the man said, "your presence honours us."
"Rise, Garthrin, you have made your preparations well."
"Thank you, my lord." The man rose to his feet, but kept his head bowed respectfully, or perhaps fearfully. Sal wondered how Sauron had been able to give his orders, since he seemed to exist now inside him. He supposed he would have little choice but to find out.
"Are the other preparations I ordered complete?"
"They are, my lord."
"And the king?"
"The king and his companion are secure. We have begun working on them. Do you wish to watch?"
"Yes." Sal could imagine what they meant by 'working on them' and wanted to do anything other than watch. He had watched Elessar beaten once before and it had been more than he could bear. He had no doubt whatever these people did to him would be far worse.
'Do not fear,' said the voice in his mind, 'I will not make the mistake of keeping your friend alive for long.' Sal wondered if Sauron could sense his thoughts. He was inside his mind after all.
That became the least of his worries as he turned unwillingly to the thing he had noticed earlier. The thing which didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the room. While he had wanted to see it earlier, now it just served to increase his fear. Fortune lay on a table, and Sal walked towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp the hilt.
'I think the king's gift should be returned to him.'
***
Author's note: Evil incarnate? Me? Keep reviewing and I might get nicer. Emphasis on the might, I'm still trying to decide whether or not to kill Sal.