A/N: hey everyone! Chapter two here! I don't have any reviews yet, and am
very said because of that. PLEASE REVIEW!! I thrive on reviews! Reviews
feed the flame of my muse. Muse: MWAHAHAHA!! MORE REVIEWS!!! MY FLAME MUST
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reviews. I will simply ignore them. Ok then, now that everything's said and
done, on with the fic!
1 Chapter Two
Silently, though swiftly, Eomynne crept like a hunting cat through the dense underbrush. Her footsteps left no imprint on the mossy floor, whatever she tread on undisturbed. The forest around her was tight and thickly grown. It seemed no one had been there for ages. What sounds should have been there were silent. The forest was dead. The men of Gondor had killed all life there, along with the Elves that had once lived between the towering trees. That single thought brought forth waves of emotion within Eomynne, though she kept her rage silent. Over time, she had gotten better at bottling up her emotions, keeping them dormant until battle was upon her. Unleashing all that pent up energy served well in battle she soon found out. In the two weeks she had been on Middle-Earth, many men of Gondor had died by her sword. Quicker than most, Eomynne had transformed herself into a warror, tuning her reflexes, training her body, changing from the sheltered princess to a fierce opponent.
It had been hard at first, to come to such a destroyed land, knowing nothing of protecting herself.
But she had learned quick enough. Caelidur and Elleduil had made sure of that.
They would not leave their sister vulnerable.
Quite abrutply, Eomynne stopped, crouching down low. She sheathed her sword, ignoring the hiss of metal as it slided into the scabard, all her attention, all her senses on the space beyond the ferns where she hid. With one steady hand, she peeled back the foliage slowly, keen Elven eyes scanning the scene beyond.
Groaning inwardly, Eomynne bit her lip, shoulders slumping as she counted the figures in the camp.
Twenty…..fourty-five…..seventy two….one hundred and fifty.
One hundred and fifty smelly, dirty, weapon clad Gondor soldiers, still ignorant to her presence.
This would not be easy.
Eomynne's nose wrinkled in disgust, the putrid smell of flesh and blood wafting towards her. The bile rose even further up her throat when she saw the source of the horrible stench. A mutilated, torn and twisted body lay no more than twenty strides away, the clothes torn and shredded, day old blood attracting hoards of flies.
"Uh." She choked silently. "It's an Elf."
Two figures moved in close beside her, each placing a comforting hand on Eomynne's shoulder.
"Try not to think about it." Elleduil instructed. "It will only make you feel worse."
Eomynne tried to nod in response, but found she could not. She could not stop thinking about who it might have been. The dead body could have been anyone. A close friend of her father, or Haldir. A brother or sister of someone safe in the Haven. Anyone. A lone tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away fervently, pushing all her emotions away for the time being.
'Wait', she told herself. 'You will avenge their death soon enough'.
For a while the three were silent, each conjuring plans in their head. The seconds stretched out, turning into minutes, turning into an hour before a jeering laugh echoed through the camp. Eomynne felt the hairs on her neck standing, her blood boiling.
The sounds of slicing and slashing, cries of despair and pain, lingered in the air long after two men approached their hiding place, oblivious to their presence, dropping another body where the first lay.
"Another life taken." Caelidur growled, his grip on Eomynne's shoulder tightening. "Another soul extinguished for the purpose of their crude entertainment. I cannot stand this any longer." His glance shifted to his older brother. "Elleduil, we should take them now. They deserve punishment."
Elleduil did not respond, brows knitted together as he continued to survey the scene.
After a long while, he slid away, motioning the other two to follow.
"They have more prisoner on the far north-east side." He explained, unslinging his bow and fitting two arrows on the reed string. "We will free them first. Then, will the men of Gondor pay the price for their evil."
Caelidur grinned devilishly, looking pleased with Elleduil's decision.
"It has been too long since my blade sung the cry of revenge, and tasted the blood of men."
Eomynne ignored both of them, hand tight on the hilt of her sword.
The three took off across the grounds, sliding like silent shadows in the night. Above them, the waxing moon hung high in the sky, shedding its light on the world below. Few rays penetrated the weaving branches and intertwining leaves. They did not need the light though. Their sight was more than enough for the heavy darkness.
Now closer to the makeshift tents, and crackling fires, they slowed their pace, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The entire group of men were together around one mammoth bonfire, the giant tongues of flame leaping into the sky, crackling and hissing as more wood fed its hunger. Even so far away, Eomynne could smell the ale they consumed, great barrels of the substance. She rarely drunk such liquids, though knew well enough what great quantities would do. They were far past drunk. Easy prey.
"Eomynne, the tent where the Elves are being held is over there." Elleduil whispered above the rautious talk and howling laughter, pointing to a small shelter, crude compared to the larger tents. "You will release them, then give us the signal when they are gone from this place. Is that clear?"
Eomynne nodded, slowly unsheathing her sword, giving her brothers a quick hug before dissapearing into the shadows once more. As silent as possible, she approached the tent, taking her place behind it and slicing a hole in the back. She slipped through the material, both hands wipping out to cover the mouths of the captives.
As her eyes adjusted slightly to the dim light, Eomynne realized they were two men, tied at the wrists and ankles, sparsely clothed.
"Dina."Be silent. She whispered, waiting until they nodded, before removing her hands.
"Mankoi naa lle sinome?" Why are you here? The one on her left asked quietly as she began to slit his bonds, curiosity flickering on his battered features.
"Amin tula a'leitha lle." I come to free you.
They both fell silent once more, allowing Eomynne to work swiftly. The second captive's ropes were harder to cut, and she began to have trouble. This was taking too long.
"I'apanonar tula ten-lye rato." The second said, a hint of fear in his raspy voice. The men come for us soon.
Eomynne groaned, finally slicing the rough rope in her last try. Without words, she motioned them to exit the tent through the hole. The thinner of the two went first, with little to none difficulty. The second had more trouble, and Eomynne had to slit the hole slightly bigger. Once they were both out, she glanced behind herself briefly, and was about to follow, when there was a great shout, and a firm hand gripped her right ankle, bringing Eomynne to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, swinging her deadly blade. The man just dodged one swipe after the other, constantly calling for help.
"Caelidur! Elleduil!" she shrieked, before her head was crushed into the earth, dirt and pebble clouding her lungs. Coughing violently, Eomynne continued to struggle, until another man kicked her in the side, knocking out what wind was left in her. Momentarily paralyzed, she dropped her sword, and it was taken quickly.
Still kicking and coughing, Eomynne was dragged brutally from the tent out into the open, where the men circled in around her, jeering and laughing, throwing stones and kicking more dirt in her face. She screamed with pain, trying over and over to get to her feet, but each time being kicked back down.
Suddenly, a single arrow sang through the air, lodging itself in one man's skull. His limp body crumpled to the ground, followed by shouts of outrage. More arrows sailed through the camp, killing at least ten more soldiers, before a mighty roar tore through the melee.
"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!!"
Death to the foes of the Elves!
Amidst the confusion and surprise, Eomynne was able to drag herself to her feet, retrieving her own bow, letting arrow after arrow fly. The men answered each attack with slices from their swords, some drawing axes and others spiked maces. Dodging between her opponents, she avoided most attacks, spotting Caelidur swinging in a tornado of death, his blade hewing limbs and slicing effortlessly through unprotected flesh. Elleduil was close by, fending off the men that circled him with more and more arrows. Soon his supply was spent, and he drew his own sword, rendering two unconscious with the hilt and killing the other three with expertly aimed blows.
The numbers in the camp were dwindling, and still Eomynne, Caelidur and Elleduil had barely been scathed.
Perhaps victory would be theirs.
Just as Eomynne was about to raise another battle cry into the air, heavy, thundering footsteps drowned out all sound in the camp. Everyone seemed to pause, holding their breath, looking in the direction of the giant sound.
In half a heartbeat, at least two hundred more Gondor men materialized out of the foliage raising the cry Eomynne had wished to. She had barely time to react, before she was brought to the ground by the flat of someone's blade. Her head smashed against a protruding rock, skull crumbling under the impact. The scene around her began to melt away, sounds diminishing as blood oozed from the wound.
The last thing she heard was her brothers yelling, before darkness took over, drawing her under.
*******
Eldarion stood tall, leaning on the balcony that overlooked the city far below. He was fingering a small dagger, drawing it slowly along his index finger, slicing the skin there. A trail of blood began to run, until Eldarion wiped it roughly against his cheek, leaving a red mark. He grinned slightly, eyes flashing. A lone tendril of dark brown hair drooped across his face, and his grin widened, gaze landing on the troop of Gondor soldiers that were approaching Minas Tirith.
"Ah, they return." He mused, in a deep, silky voice. "And they bear prisoners."
His storm gray eyes surveyed the scene for a moment longer, before he strode away, entering the spacious hall. A group of wizened old men stood around a long rectangular table, discussing amongst themselves in low voices. As Eldarion's clattering boot steps echoed on the polished floor, they broke apart, each bowing in respect. Eldarion just snorted, motioning them to raise their heads.
"My men return." He informed them, hand brushing against Anduril that lay dormant in it's sheath. "Omalnd, send a messenger to greet them. Tell General Domic that the prisoners are not to be harmed."
A man on the far right nodded in response, cloak shuffling as he exited the room.
Eldarion turned away, drawing his blade, letting it sing as he went through the motions he had learned from his father. Jab, turn and slice, step right, step left, blade over, blade under, jab back. Each movement was slow and calculated, almost like a dance as he glided around the room. His thoughts were vague, his concentration mostly on keeping time with the rhythym of the motions. The men around him just watched, vaguely commenting as Eldarion would slice an invisible enemy, laughing icily to himself.
After a while, he stopped, sheathing the awe inspiring blade, tucking the sheath protectively around his waist.
Almost, as if they had waited for the opourtunity, six guards, clad in heavy chain-mail blundered in, struggling with three figures bound with rope. Eldarion smiled, storm gray eyes flashing sharply, as he spun on his heel to greet them. Still smiling, he approached the prisoners, gaze scanning each, sizing them up as if they were meat at the slaughter house.
The first was obviously an Elf, same as his companions, with white blonde hair that trailed down his shoulders, braided at the sides and around the back. Those that knew him would say he was an exact double of his father, but Eldarion did not, and simply scoffed as he growled in fury, desparately trying to fling himself at the King.
The second was more slender, with unruely, fiery red hair cropped short, just long enough to be tucked behind his pointed ears. His eyes were a brilliant green, that shone with many years of wisdom, though were now clouded by an unspoken rage, which he kept calmly to himself. He was watching Eldarion with the same calculating stare, lip curling slightly in disgust.
It was the third though, that surprised him.
It was a woman, a tall and slender woman, dressed in man's garb, with golden blonde hair tied tightly together in a flowing braid. A quiver of arrows and bow were slung around her back, accompanied by an elegant sword sheathed at her curvy waist. The scabbard was far from plain, etched with pictures of long ago battles, and victories won, studded with jewels of scattered varieties. It glinted with every move she made, which were few. She stood tall and proud, head held high as if a Queen. Her misty blue eyes held an anger far surpassing the men beside her, blazing like a blinding beacon. To top off her warrior look, a red scar streaked down her left cheek, disrupting the ivory skin elsewhere. It covered almost half of it, suprising Eldarion slightly. Not even he had a scar as eye-catching compared. It was almost unnerving.
"We captured these Ardarauko at the camp near Deadwood." The general informed him, standing somewhat apart from the other guards. All three of the captives shuddered, the blonde becoming even more enraged.
"You are the Ardarauko!" he roared.
Eldarion ignored him. Petty insults from Elves were nothing important. Ardarauko was a title men had given to them. 'Earth-demons' it meant. And they deserved it. Elves were scum to him.
Lips pursed slightly, Eldarion took a few steps closer to the woman, meeting her furious stare head on.
"What is your name, Ardarauko?" He questioned icily, hand coming up to run his thumb along the red mark on her cheek. "And where did you get such a scar?" She growled at his touch, raising her head further in a vain attempt to move out of reach. Eldarion laughed when she did not reply.
"Silence is a dangerous thing." He murmured, beginning to pace slowly back and forth. "It can inform your enemy you are ready to die, tell them you are ready for the slow death they will inflict upon you. Or…"
Here he paused, stopping his movement in mid-step.
"Or, you can scream. Scream like a coward, scream for them to end it quickly. And they will, if you want them to. Will you scream before the end? Or will you stay silent? Silent as you are now, telling me you are ready to die."
The room lapsed into heavy silence. Eldarion watched the woman closely, smiling when he saw the defeat in her eyes.
"I am Eomynne. These are my brothers, Caelidur and Elleduil."
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The general sneered, moving to stand beside his King. Eldarion slung a brotherly arm over his shoulder, laughing softly to himself.
"Quite a fiesty bunch, would you not agree Domic?" He asked. "Though Eomynne strangest of all. Where do you suppose she got that scar?"
Domic snorted.
"I suppose she spread her legs for an unworthy man, then tried to get away when she was unsatisfied, as any road-side whore would. Like any man, her whim became enraged, then attacked her. That's what I would bet."
Eldarion laughed again when he saw the obvious outrage on all three captive's face, more so on the men, than on Eomynne. They struggled more fiercly against their bonds, Elleduil's rage finally releasing itself.
"I agree Domic, I agree." Eldarion muttered slyly, still inspecting the three. "Perhaps I should send her to your quarters. She should learn how to satisfy a man, without becoming the victim of attack. Running after bedding with a general, would not be the worst of her troubles."
Both men erupted into hollers of laughter, joined slightly by the still silent advisors standing nearby.
Caelidur nearly exploded with rage, nostrils flared, teeth bared slightly.
"How dare you talk about my sister as such?!" He roared, fighting madly with the guard that held him bonded. "If your men did not hold me, you would not say such things! When I am free, my sword shall sing the joyous melody of your death Eldarion!"
The King merely scoffed.
"You will never be free." He said levely, daring to step closer to the engraged Elf, holding his chin firmly. "You are mine now, and forever will you be mine. Capturing you is only the beginning."
"What do you mean?" came Elleduil's strangely calm voice, though his eyes sang a different tune.
Eldarion smiled.
"You will know soon enough Ardarauko. " Then with a great flourish of his ring-adorned hand, the guards heaved them away followed by the wizened advisors, leaving Domic and himself alone.
Eldarion turned to his friend, confused by the look of bewilderment on the general's face.
"What is it?" he asked lightly, drawing Anduril again, dancing the different motions, gliding across the floor.
"I do not know." Domic answered. "I just have this strange feeling that I cannot place."
Eldarion sighed, stopping for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. "I too have that feeling." He mused, once again launching into swings and slices. "Though I have not felt it before."
Domic nodded slowly, then slumped into a nearby chair, rubbing his temples.
"Whatever it is, perhaps a night with the Lady will push it aside." He chuckled evily. "I have heard Elves are unmatchable in bed."
Eldarion grinned devilishly, licking his lips.
"Yes, I too have heard such things, though I have yet to find out."
Domic chuckled again, then pulled himself to his feet, drawing his own blade, the clang of metal on metal filling the silent air.
1 Chapter Two
Silently, though swiftly, Eomynne crept like a hunting cat through the dense underbrush. Her footsteps left no imprint on the mossy floor, whatever she tread on undisturbed. The forest around her was tight and thickly grown. It seemed no one had been there for ages. What sounds should have been there were silent. The forest was dead. The men of Gondor had killed all life there, along with the Elves that had once lived between the towering trees. That single thought brought forth waves of emotion within Eomynne, though she kept her rage silent. Over time, she had gotten better at bottling up her emotions, keeping them dormant until battle was upon her. Unleashing all that pent up energy served well in battle she soon found out. In the two weeks she had been on Middle-Earth, many men of Gondor had died by her sword. Quicker than most, Eomynne had transformed herself into a warror, tuning her reflexes, training her body, changing from the sheltered princess to a fierce opponent.
It had been hard at first, to come to such a destroyed land, knowing nothing of protecting herself.
But she had learned quick enough. Caelidur and Elleduil had made sure of that.
They would not leave their sister vulnerable.
Quite abrutply, Eomynne stopped, crouching down low. She sheathed her sword, ignoring the hiss of metal as it slided into the scabard, all her attention, all her senses on the space beyond the ferns where she hid. With one steady hand, she peeled back the foliage slowly, keen Elven eyes scanning the scene beyond.
Groaning inwardly, Eomynne bit her lip, shoulders slumping as she counted the figures in the camp.
Twenty…..fourty-five…..seventy two….one hundred and fifty.
One hundred and fifty smelly, dirty, weapon clad Gondor soldiers, still ignorant to her presence.
This would not be easy.
Eomynne's nose wrinkled in disgust, the putrid smell of flesh and blood wafting towards her. The bile rose even further up her throat when she saw the source of the horrible stench. A mutilated, torn and twisted body lay no more than twenty strides away, the clothes torn and shredded, day old blood attracting hoards of flies.
"Uh." She choked silently. "It's an Elf."
Two figures moved in close beside her, each placing a comforting hand on Eomynne's shoulder.
"Try not to think about it." Elleduil instructed. "It will only make you feel worse."
Eomynne tried to nod in response, but found she could not. She could not stop thinking about who it might have been. The dead body could have been anyone. A close friend of her father, or Haldir. A brother or sister of someone safe in the Haven. Anyone. A lone tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away fervently, pushing all her emotions away for the time being.
'Wait', she told herself. 'You will avenge their death soon enough'.
For a while the three were silent, each conjuring plans in their head. The seconds stretched out, turning into minutes, turning into an hour before a jeering laugh echoed through the camp. Eomynne felt the hairs on her neck standing, her blood boiling.
The sounds of slicing and slashing, cries of despair and pain, lingered in the air long after two men approached their hiding place, oblivious to their presence, dropping another body where the first lay.
"Another life taken." Caelidur growled, his grip on Eomynne's shoulder tightening. "Another soul extinguished for the purpose of their crude entertainment. I cannot stand this any longer." His glance shifted to his older brother. "Elleduil, we should take them now. They deserve punishment."
Elleduil did not respond, brows knitted together as he continued to survey the scene.
After a long while, he slid away, motioning the other two to follow.
"They have more prisoner on the far north-east side." He explained, unslinging his bow and fitting two arrows on the reed string. "We will free them first. Then, will the men of Gondor pay the price for their evil."
Caelidur grinned devilishly, looking pleased with Elleduil's decision.
"It has been too long since my blade sung the cry of revenge, and tasted the blood of men."
Eomynne ignored both of them, hand tight on the hilt of her sword.
The three took off across the grounds, sliding like silent shadows in the night. Above them, the waxing moon hung high in the sky, shedding its light on the world below. Few rays penetrated the weaving branches and intertwining leaves. They did not need the light though. Their sight was more than enough for the heavy darkness.
Now closer to the makeshift tents, and crackling fires, they slowed their pace, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The entire group of men were together around one mammoth bonfire, the giant tongues of flame leaping into the sky, crackling and hissing as more wood fed its hunger. Even so far away, Eomynne could smell the ale they consumed, great barrels of the substance. She rarely drunk such liquids, though knew well enough what great quantities would do. They were far past drunk. Easy prey.
"Eomynne, the tent where the Elves are being held is over there." Elleduil whispered above the rautious talk and howling laughter, pointing to a small shelter, crude compared to the larger tents. "You will release them, then give us the signal when they are gone from this place. Is that clear?"
Eomynne nodded, slowly unsheathing her sword, giving her brothers a quick hug before dissapearing into the shadows once more. As silent as possible, she approached the tent, taking her place behind it and slicing a hole in the back. She slipped through the material, both hands wipping out to cover the mouths of the captives.
As her eyes adjusted slightly to the dim light, Eomynne realized they were two men, tied at the wrists and ankles, sparsely clothed.
"Dina."Be silent. She whispered, waiting until they nodded, before removing her hands.
"Mankoi naa lle sinome?" Why are you here? The one on her left asked quietly as she began to slit his bonds, curiosity flickering on his battered features.
"Amin tula a'leitha lle." I come to free you.
They both fell silent once more, allowing Eomynne to work swiftly. The second captive's ropes were harder to cut, and she began to have trouble. This was taking too long.
"I'apanonar tula ten-lye rato." The second said, a hint of fear in his raspy voice. The men come for us soon.
Eomynne groaned, finally slicing the rough rope in her last try. Without words, she motioned them to exit the tent through the hole. The thinner of the two went first, with little to none difficulty. The second had more trouble, and Eomynne had to slit the hole slightly bigger. Once they were both out, she glanced behind herself briefly, and was about to follow, when there was a great shout, and a firm hand gripped her right ankle, bringing Eomynne to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, swinging her deadly blade. The man just dodged one swipe after the other, constantly calling for help.
"Caelidur! Elleduil!" she shrieked, before her head was crushed into the earth, dirt and pebble clouding her lungs. Coughing violently, Eomynne continued to struggle, until another man kicked her in the side, knocking out what wind was left in her. Momentarily paralyzed, she dropped her sword, and it was taken quickly.
Still kicking and coughing, Eomynne was dragged brutally from the tent out into the open, where the men circled in around her, jeering and laughing, throwing stones and kicking more dirt in her face. She screamed with pain, trying over and over to get to her feet, but each time being kicked back down.
Suddenly, a single arrow sang through the air, lodging itself in one man's skull. His limp body crumpled to the ground, followed by shouts of outrage. More arrows sailed through the camp, killing at least ten more soldiers, before a mighty roar tore through the melee.
"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!!"
Death to the foes of the Elves!
Amidst the confusion and surprise, Eomynne was able to drag herself to her feet, retrieving her own bow, letting arrow after arrow fly. The men answered each attack with slices from their swords, some drawing axes and others spiked maces. Dodging between her opponents, she avoided most attacks, spotting Caelidur swinging in a tornado of death, his blade hewing limbs and slicing effortlessly through unprotected flesh. Elleduil was close by, fending off the men that circled him with more and more arrows. Soon his supply was spent, and he drew his own sword, rendering two unconscious with the hilt and killing the other three with expertly aimed blows.
The numbers in the camp were dwindling, and still Eomynne, Caelidur and Elleduil had barely been scathed.
Perhaps victory would be theirs.
Just as Eomynne was about to raise another battle cry into the air, heavy, thundering footsteps drowned out all sound in the camp. Everyone seemed to pause, holding their breath, looking in the direction of the giant sound.
In half a heartbeat, at least two hundred more Gondor men materialized out of the foliage raising the cry Eomynne had wished to. She had barely time to react, before she was brought to the ground by the flat of someone's blade. Her head smashed against a protruding rock, skull crumbling under the impact. The scene around her began to melt away, sounds diminishing as blood oozed from the wound.
The last thing she heard was her brothers yelling, before darkness took over, drawing her under.
*******
Eldarion stood tall, leaning on the balcony that overlooked the city far below. He was fingering a small dagger, drawing it slowly along his index finger, slicing the skin there. A trail of blood began to run, until Eldarion wiped it roughly against his cheek, leaving a red mark. He grinned slightly, eyes flashing. A lone tendril of dark brown hair drooped across his face, and his grin widened, gaze landing on the troop of Gondor soldiers that were approaching Minas Tirith.
"Ah, they return." He mused, in a deep, silky voice. "And they bear prisoners."
His storm gray eyes surveyed the scene for a moment longer, before he strode away, entering the spacious hall. A group of wizened old men stood around a long rectangular table, discussing amongst themselves in low voices. As Eldarion's clattering boot steps echoed on the polished floor, they broke apart, each bowing in respect. Eldarion just snorted, motioning them to raise their heads.
"My men return." He informed them, hand brushing against Anduril that lay dormant in it's sheath. "Omalnd, send a messenger to greet them. Tell General Domic that the prisoners are not to be harmed."
A man on the far right nodded in response, cloak shuffling as he exited the room.
Eldarion turned away, drawing his blade, letting it sing as he went through the motions he had learned from his father. Jab, turn and slice, step right, step left, blade over, blade under, jab back. Each movement was slow and calculated, almost like a dance as he glided around the room. His thoughts were vague, his concentration mostly on keeping time with the rhythym of the motions. The men around him just watched, vaguely commenting as Eldarion would slice an invisible enemy, laughing icily to himself.
After a while, he stopped, sheathing the awe inspiring blade, tucking the sheath protectively around his waist.
Almost, as if they had waited for the opourtunity, six guards, clad in heavy chain-mail blundered in, struggling with three figures bound with rope. Eldarion smiled, storm gray eyes flashing sharply, as he spun on his heel to greet them. Still smiling, he approached the prisoners, gaze scanning each, sizing them up as if they were meat at the slaughter house.
The first was obviously an Elf, same as his companions, with white blonde hair that trailed down his shoulders, braided at the sides and around the back. Those that knew him would say he was an exact double of his father, but Eldarion did not, and simply scoffed as he growled in fury, desparately trying to fling himself at the King.
The second was more slender, with unruely, fiery red hair cropped short, just long enough to be tucked behind his pointed ears. His eyes were a brilliant green, that shone with many years of wisdom, though were now clouded by an unspoken rage, which he kept calmly to himself. He was watching Eldarion with the same calculating stare, lip curling slightly in disgust.
It was the third though, that surprised him.
It was a woman, a tall and slender woman, dressed in man's garb, with golden blonde hair tied tightly together in a flowing braid. A quiver of arrows and bow were slung around her back, accompanied by an elegant sword sheathed at her curvy waist. The scabbard was far from plain, etched with pictures of long ago battles, and victories won, studded with jewels of scattered varieties. It glinted with every move she made, which were few. She stood tall and proud, head held high as if a Queen. Her misty blue eyes held an anger far surpassing the men beside her, blazing like a blinding beacon. To top off her warrior look, a red scar streaked down her left cheek, disrupting the ivory skin elsewhere. It covered almost half of it, suprising Eldarion slightly. Not even he had a scar as eye-catching compared. It was almost unnerving.
"We captured these Ardarauko at the camp near Deadwood." The general informed him, standing somewhat apart from the other guards. All three of the captives shuddered, the blonde becoming even more enraged.
"You are the Ardarauko!" he roared.
Eldarion ignored him. Petty insults from Elves were nothing important. Ardarauko was a title men had given to them. 'Earth-demons' it meant. And they deserved it. Elves were scum to him.
Lips pursed slightly, Eldarion took a few steps closer to the woman, meeting her furious stare head on.
"What is your name, Ardarauko?" He questioned icily, hand coming up to run his thumb along the red mark on her cheek. "And where did you get such a scar?" She growled at his touch, raising her head further in a vain attempt to move out of reach. Eldarion laughed when she did not reply.
"Silence is a dangerous thing." He murmured, beginning to pace slowly back and forth. "It can inform your enemy you are ready to die, tell them you are ready for the slow death they will inflict upon you. Or…"
Here he paused, stopping his movement in mid-step.
"Or, you can scream. Scream like a coward, scream for them to end it quickly. And they will, if you want them to. Will you scream before the end? Or will you stay silent? Silent as you are now, telling me you are ready to die."
The room lapsed into heavy silence. Eldarion watched the woman closely, smiling when he saw the defeat in her eyes.
"I am Eomynne. These are my brothers, Caelidur and Elleduil."
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" The general sneered, moving to stand beside his King. Eldarion slung a brotherly arm over his shoulder, laughing softly to himself.
"Quite a fiesty bunch, would you not agree Domic?" He asked. "Though Eomynne strangest of all. Where do you suppose she got that scar?"
Domic snorted.
"I suppose she spread her legs for an unworthy man, then tried to get away when she was unsatisfied, as any road-side whore would. Like any man, her whim became enraged, then attacked her. That's what I would bet."
Eldarion laughed again when he saw the obvious outrage on all three captive's face, more so on the men, than on Eomynne. They struggled more fiercly against their bonds, Elleduil's rage finally releasing itself.
"I agree Domic, I agree." Eldarion muttered slyly, still inspecting the three. "Perhaps I should send her to your quarters. She should learn how to satisfy a man, without becoming the victim of attack. Running after bedding with a general, would not be the worst of her troubles."
Both men erupted into hollers of laughter, joined slightly by the still silent advisors standing nearby.
Caelidur nearly exploded with rage, nostrils flared, teeth bared slightly.
"How dare you talk about my sister as such?!" He roared, fighting madly with the guard that held him bonded. "If your men did not hold me, you would not say such things! When I am free, my sword shall sing the joyous melody of your death Eldarion!"
The King merely scoffed.
"You will never be free." He said levely, daring to step closer to the engraged Elf, holding his chin firmly. "You are mine now, and forever will you be mine. Capturing you is only the beginning."
"What do you mean?" came Elleduil's strangely calm voice, though his eyes sang a different tune.
Eldarion smiled.
"You will know soon enough Ardarauko. " Then with a great flourish of his ring-adorned hand, the guards heaved them away followed by the wizened advisors, leaving Domic and himself alone.
Eldarion turned to his friend, confused by the look of bewilderment on the general's face.
"What is it?" he asked lightly, drawing Anduril again, dancing the different motions, gliding across the floor.
"I do not know." Domic answered. "I just have this strange feeling that I cannot place."
Eldarion sighed, stopping for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. "I too have that feeling." He mused, once again launching into swings and slices. "Though I have not felt it before."
Domic nodded slowly, then slumped into a nearby chair, rubbing his temples.
"Whatever it is, perhaps a night with the Lady will push it aside." He chuckled evily. "I have heard Elves are unmatchable in bed."
Eldarion grinned devilishly, licking his lips.
"Yes, I too have heard such things, though I have yet to find out."
Domic chuckled again, then pulled himself to his feet, drawing his own blade, the clang of metal on metal filling the silent air.