He could feel her looking at him even before he was forced to kneel
in front of her. Then when his head was jerked back he could see her eyes
widen with the revelation of every bruise and cut that had been inflicted
upon him. He could see her pity for him, mixed strangely enough with
something else. What it was, he did not know.
Iluuvatar, no.
Melime squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the unwanted image. Had he done it on purpose? Or was it just another one of his disgusting routines? It couldn't be. It was too perfect... The same blackened eye, even the very same broken bone that threatened to break free of his skin. Was the Man's memory of the blond Elf that he'd tortured to death as fresh in his head as it was in the victim's daughter's? And was he using that painful memory against her?
"Melime?"
No, she wouldn't look again. She couldn't face her father again.
"Melime, you're not paying attention." His voice was that of a mother scolding her small child. "No," she whispered. She didn't need to see him; the picture was permanently scrawled onto the backs of her eyelids. "Melime!" He was getting impatient, but she shook her head wildly.
Guryn's jaw clenched, and he drew his arm back. The boy kneeling on the floor flinched as he heard the loud, flat clapping sound. The Elf's head rocked back, and, without the use of her arms, she easily lost her balance, toppling over onto the cold tile floor in a heap.
He moved forward, the reflexive movement of one of his upbringing. The hand on his hair held him back, and a soft cry escaped his lips as his head was yanked backwards even harder than before. Guryn turned, looking at him curiously. He took a few slow, staggering steps toward him.
The Man was drunk. He could tell. Not that this was a surprise, however. He had grown to be accustomed to the drunkenness just like he had grown accustomed to the rats crawling over him at night. Hardly anything phazed him anymore.
"What ever is the matter, slave?" He spat the last word into his face. Taking the boy's face in his brawny hand, he brought it close to his-- - enough so that the stench of alcohol on his breath stung at his eye and made him gag. "Jealous?"
"Urya mi voronwa nwalya, waara nyano!"
It took a moment for it to register in Melime's head that the words that had been hissed at Guryn had been Elvish. When it had finally sunk in, her head snapped up from the ground, just in time to see Guryn back-hand the younger Man. She watched then as he fell to the floor, much like she had moments before, and received one swift kick to the ribs.
"I warned you before..." the Man growled in his slurred way, "... to... NEVER... EVER... USE THAT TONGUE IN MY PRESENCE!" With every word, his foot connected with the boy's stomach, harder and harder. With one last kick, he stormed back up to his throne and plopped down like a bored and restless child.
Melime ran her tongue over her bottom lip and tasted blood. What I wouldn't do for one of my daggers right about now... she thought angrily. No, it wasn't anger anymore. It was so much more than just anger or even rage.
A choking sound averted her gaze back to the Man lying on the floor. He was still on his side, coughing and gasping for air. Melime herself felt sick as she saw the slow trail of blood and saliva dripping from between his lips. At least with her father the torture had only lasted for a few hours, she thought ruefully. Who knew how long this boy had endured it...
"Get them out of my sight." Guryn resumed his cool, aloof voice. "What do you want us to do with them, my lord?" Guryn seemed to consider it for a moment, but Melime refused to take her eyes from the boy to see what he was thinking with his expressions. "Put them in the dungeons. I think the rats deserve a break from them." This last snarky comment elicited a good laugh from the guards in the room.
Melime felt the familiar tug of ropes on her delicate wrists as she was forced to climb to her feet again. Never taking her eyes from the boy, she stumbled forward, heading back to the door downstairs.
The only remotely cheerful thought left for her to ponder over was that they would not be forced back down into the deepest recesses of the dungeons again. Yet even this small happiness was shattered into a million pieces when she heard Guryn order to his Men: "Make sure Lady Melime is cleaned up. I don't want to have that stench ruining my plans for tonight."
Melime swallowed hard, and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She could only imagine what his "plans" were...
The upper dungeons were not nearly as empty as the ones on the lowest level. Loud banging and screams echoed off the walls all around her as she was marched down the walkway to her new cell. Turning her head to either side of her, Melime could see the other prisoners. Most were Men like Guryn- -- probably rivals that lost to him--- but some were like her. These were the ones that cowered away in the corner of their cells, not daring to make a sound as the Men walked by. Some women, some children. To them, Melime could only force a weak smile of encouragement.
Finally, after what seemed to be forever, she was brought to an empty cell at the end of the line, and her wrists were freed. The boy that had accompanied her so far was literally thrown into the cell across from her. She heard a surprised grunt from the other side just as she too hit the stone floor, scraping the palms of her hands so that small dots surfaced on the broken and dirty skin.
The door clanged shut, and she watched as the dim torchlight faded away down the hall.
Once she was sure that the Men were gone, she scrambled to her knees next to the bars. She could just make out the prone form lying on the ground. He was lying still, and her Elven hearing revealed that he was breathing shallowly. Probably unconscious... she thought sadly.
How she wished she could have spoken to him again! Especially now that she had so many questions for him. Like how did he know how to speak Elvish, where did he come from, and most importantly, who was he?
She sighed and sat back next to the wall, her arms folded on top of her bent knees. She lowered her chin onto them and continued to ponder over the possibilities of her new friend's identity.
Then there was a gruff, yet very familiar voice in the now-quiet darkness. "Melime? Melime, is that you?!" She sat up further and peered out of her cell. She heard a rustle, and scratching sounds coming from her new friend's cell. Was it possible?
Her sharpened vision suddenly focused in on a face hovering above the boy's limp body. A face that looked remarkably older than she remembered, but with the same sparkling, beady eyes and fluffy mat of hair on the cheeks, and she could not contain her excitement.
"Clulyan! You're alive!"
"What? Did you think I needed an Elf to take care of me?" he scoffed playfully. Clulyan thought he saw her smile weakly, then she lowered her gaze to the boy at his knees. He too looked down then back up.
"Friend of yours?"
"Something like that... Is he okay?"
Clulyan had a feeling that she knew very well that the boy lying in his cell was nowhere near being "okay," but he still bent lower to examine him.
Melime also bent forward, watching intently as Clulyan gingerly turned the young Man onto his back. He prodded and pushed, looked and listened.
"Well?" she asked, growing slightly impatient.
"I'm no master of healing, but I would say most definitely not. At least from what I see, it does not look good." Clulyan saw her close her eyes. She settled against the wall, her chin resting on her knees.
"We have to get out of here," she murmured. Looking toward Clulyan again, she repeated with more conviction, "We have to get out of here." Then, cocking her head so she was staring up at the ceiling, she muttered, "And I know just how we're going to do it."
TBC...
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Okay, another shortie, but I just couldn't leave you all hanging any longer! You guys are really great, tolerating my tardiness on another chapter installment... I can't make any promises that I will be updating sooner, but I shall try. Gaylord, let's get on it! Hopefully my muses will return and we will be able to update the more comical works of Potter- bashing soon. Until then...............
~Radiion-hobbitwarrior~ Bad Psychie! Updating she has not been. Yes, here is the box of tissues. But do not fret, it comes out happy... I hope. As for Psychie's-little-chracter-whom-she-gets-to-beat-mercilessly, I let you in on little secret, cause you're so nice and keep coming back. *cough, next heir to the throne of gondor, cough*
~PrincessEvenstar~ Aww, how can I resist a review like that??? Well, maybe Psychie can let one more person in on the secret... Have you seen ROTK? Psychie's-little-chracter-whom-she-gets-to-beat-mercilessly is the second person that Arwen has her little space-out session about... (and he ain't Aragorn)
~dragon emperess~ Hmm... Well this isn't exactly soon is it? *ducks the flying veggies* Please keep coming back though! I beg your forgiveness! Gaylord, fetch the basket o' good stuff! Give something lovely to dragon emperess! Good boy.
~bry~ Thank you for getting my sorry butt back in gear. I read your review and realized that I couldn't remember the last time that I had been on fanfiction.net at all. Then I felt bad, so I hurried up and finished this chapter. So oopsies on Psychie's part if the last few paragraphs of this seemed really rushed...
I love you all! Gaylord, do something nice for them now while Psychie goes to work on the other two stories!
Until next time...
~*PsychoPoet*~
Iluuvatar, no.
Melime squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the unwanted image. Had he done it on purpose? Or was it just another one of his disgusting routines? It couldn't be. It was too perfect... The same blackened eye, even the very same broken bone that threatened to break free of his skin. Was the Man's memory of the blond Elf that he'd tortured to death as fresh in his head as it was in the victim's daughter's? And was he using that painful memory against her?
"Melime?"
No, she wouldn't look again. She couldn't face her father again.
"Melime, you're not paying attention." His voice was that of a mother scolding her small child. "No," she whispered. She didn't need to see him; the picture was permanently scrawled onto the backs of her eyelids. "Melime!" He was getting impatient, but she shook her head wildly.
Guryn's jaw clenched, and he drew his arm back. The boy kneeling on the floor flinched as he heard the loud, flat clapping sound. The Elf's head rocked back, and, without the use of her arms, she easily lost her balance, toppling over onto the cold tile floor in a heap.
He moved forward, the reflexive movement of one of his upbringing. The hand on his hair held him back, and a soft cry escaped his lips as his head was yanked backwards even harder than before. Guryn turned, looking at him curiously. He took a few slow, staggering steps toward him.
The Man was drunk. He could tell. Not that this was a surprise, however. He had grown to be accustomed to the drunkenness just like he had grown accustomed to the rats crawling over him at night. Hardly anything phazed him anymore.
"What ever is the matter, slave?" He spat the last word into his face. Taking the boy's face in his brawny hand, he brought it close to his-- - enough so that the stench of alcohol on his breath stung at his eye and made him gag. "Jealous?"
"Urya mi voronwa nwalya, waara nyano!"
It took a moment for it to register in Melime's head that the words that had been hissed at Guryn had been Elvish. When it had finally sunk in, her head snapped up from the ground, just in time to see Guryn back-hand the younger Man. She watched then as he fell to the floor, much like she had moments before, and received one swift kick to the ribs.
"I warned you before..." the Man growled in his slurred way, "... to... NEVER... EVER... USE THAT TONGUE IN MY PRESENCE!" With every word, his foot connected with the boy's stomach, harder and harder. With one last kick, he stormed back up to his throne and plopped down like a bored and restless child.
Melime ran her tongue over her bottom lip and tasted blood. What I wouldn't do for one of my daggers right about now... she thought angrily. No, it wasn't anger anymore. It was so much more than just anger or even rage.
A choking sound averted her gaze back to the Man lying on the floor. He was still on his side, coughing and gasping for air. Melime herself felt sick as she saw the slow trail of blood and saliva dripping from between his lips. At least with her father the torture had only lasted for a few hours, she thought ruefully. Who knew how long this boy had endured it...
"Get them out of my sight." Guryn resumed his cool, aloof voice. "What do you want us to do with them, my lord?" Guryn seemed to consider it for a moment, but Melime refused to take her eyes from the boy to see what he was thinking with his expressions. "Put them in the dungeons. I think the rats deserve a break from them." This last snarky comment elicited a good laugh from the guards in the room.
Melime felt the familiar tug of ropes on her delicate wrists as she was forced to climb to her feet again. Never taking her eyes from the boy, she stumbled forward, heading back to the door downstairs.
The only remotely cheerful thought left for her to ponder over was that they would not be forced back down into the deepest recesses of the dungeons again. Yet even this small happiness was shattered into a million pieces when she heard Guryn order to his Men: "Make sure Lady Melime is cleaned up. I don't want to have that stench ruining my plans for tonight."
Melime swallowed hard, and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She could only imagine what his "plans" were...
The upper dungeons were not nearly as empty as the ones on the lowest level. Loud banging and screams echoed off the walls all around her as she was marched down the walkway to her new cell. Turning her head to either side of her, Melime could see the other prisoners. Most were Men like Guryn- -- probably rivals that lost to him--- but some were like her. These were the ones that cowered away in the corner of their cells, not daring to make a sound as the Men walked by. Some women, some children. To them, Melime could only force a weak smile of encouragement.
Finally, after what seemed to be forever, she was brought to an empty cell at the end of the line, and her wrists were freed. The boy that had accompanied her so far was literally thrown into the cell across from her. She heard a surprised grunt from the other side just as she too hit the stone floor, scraping the palms of her hands so that small dots surfaced on the broken and dirty skin.
The door clanged shut, and she watched as the dim torchlight faded away down the hall.
Once she was sure that the Men were gone, she scrambled to her knees next to the bars. She could just make out the prone form lying on the ground. He was lying still, and her Elven hearing revealed that he was breathing shallowly. Probably unconscious... she thought sadly.
How she wished she could have spoken to him again! Especially now that she had so many questions for him. Like how did he know how to speak Elvish, where did he come from, and most importantly, who was he?
She sighed and sat back next to the wall, her arms folded on top of her bent knees. She lowered her chin onto them and continued to ponder over the possibilities of her new friend's identity.
Then there was a gruff, yet very familiar voice in the now-quiet darkness. "Melime? Melime, is that you?!" She sat up further and peered out of her cell. She heard a rustle, and scratching sounds coming from her new friend's cell. Was it possible?
Her sharpened vision suddenly focused in on a face hovering above the boy's limp body. A face that looked remarkably older than she remembered, but with the same sparkling, beady eyes and fluffy mat of hair on the cheeks, and she could not contain her excitement.
"Clulyan! You're alive!"
"What? Did you think I needed an Elf to take care of me?" he scoffed playfully. Clulyan thought he saw her smile weakly, then she lowered her gaze to the boy at his knees. He too looked down then back up.
"Friend of yours?"
"Something like that... Is he okay?"
Clulyan had a feeling that she knew very well that the boy lying in his cell was nowhere near being "okay," but he still bent lower to examine him.
Melime also bent forward, watching intently as Clulyan gingerly turned the young Man onto his back. He prodded and pushed, looked and listened.
"Well?" she asked, growing slightly impatient.
"I'm no master of healing, but I would say most definitely not. At least from what I see, it does not look good." Clulyan saw her close her eyes. She settled against the wall, her chin resting on her knees.
"We have to get out of here," she murmured. Looking toward Clulyan again, she repeated with more conviction, "We have to get out of here." Then, cocking her head so she was staring up at the ceiling, she muttered, "And I know just how we're going to do it."
TBC...
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Okay, another shortie, but I just couldn't leave you all hanging any longer! You guys are really great, tolerating my tardiness on another chapter installment... I can't make any promises that I will be updating sooner, but I shall try. Gaylord, let's get on it! Hopefully my muses will return and we will be able to update the more comical works of Potter- bashing soon. Until then...............
~Radiion-hobbitwarrior~ Bad Psychie! Updating she has not been. Yes, here is the box of tissues. But do not fret, it comes out happy... I hope. As for Psychie's-little-chracter-whom-she-gets-to-beat-mercilessly, I let you in on little secret, cause you're so nice and keep coming back. *cough, next heir to the throne of gondor, cough*
~PrincessEvenstar~ Aww, how can I resist a review like that??? Well, maybe Psychie can let one more person in on the secret... Have you seen ROTK? Psychie's-little-chracter-whom-she-gets-to-beat-mercilessly is the second person that Arwen has her little space-out session about... (and he ain't Aragorn)
~dragon emperess~ Hmm... Well this isn't exactly soon is it? *ducks the flying veggies* Please keep coming back though! I beg your forgiveness! Gaylord, fetch the basket o' good stuff! Give something lovely to dragon emperess! Good boy.
~bry~ Thank you for getting my sorry butt back in gear. I read your review and realized that I couldn't remember the last time that I had been on fanfiction.net at all. Then I felt bad, so I hurried up and finished this chapter. So oopsies on Psychie's part if the last few paragraphs of this seemed really rushed...
I love you all! Gaylord, do something nice for them now while Psychie goes to work on the other two stories!
Until next time...
~*PsychoPoet*~