Well, here I go again. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed; I'm new at this and really appreciated your suggestions. As far as spelling goes, I am replacing my previous chapters with corrected ones because I want to keep this as accurate as possible (though, I had to tweak a few things to help with the storyline, so I'm sorry, but I will have to live with my initial decisions). One question; do you think it would be odd to introduce romance later in the plot? Some people have told me that it would be weird after my first two morbid chapters, but I think it would be o.k. Thanks again, and if you have any other suggestions, don't hesitate to say something!
A Tainted Existence
Eowyn lay on her bed in the dark and listened to the quiet breathing of those around her. Light shone through the bars of the tiny window as a guard checked to make sure everyone was abed. She shifted nervously as the light passed over her huddled form. This was how she lived her life, had always lived her life, in constant fear. She had never known anything different.
For hours, Eowyn stayed awake, dreading the coming sunlight. She willed the night to never turn to day, yet soon enough, the sickening orange light spilled over the barren landscape and up her pale face. Everyone around her got up without a word. As they marched towards the place they were fed breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Eowyn glanced up at the faded sign that hung crooked over the door. It read "The Prancing Pony". She continued to walk, her expression unchanged, into the crowded building. She grabbed a bowl from a table full of, well, she couldn't really tell, and sat down. It really didn't matter to her what she was eating; it was food that would give her strength and keep her alive. And for the hundredth time, she wondered why she even wanted to keep on living.
She thought about what lay ahead of her that day. All she had been told was that she was being moved to the mines, a place feared by everyone. The small towns, like the one she was in now, were just resting points along the way to the place where all would one day toil to serve the Master, digging for precious metals and jewels. A chosen few would continue on until they reached the fortress, where they would become the manservants, slaves more like, of the Master.
As she got up to report to the group that was departing that day, a sudden commotion stopped her. Across the room, she could see roughly ten men beating three huddled forms savagely. Without thinking about why, what she was doing, or the consequences, Eowyn strode swiftly over to the corner. In a voice that was slightly strangled as she began to realize how embarrassing the situation was, she asked "Why are you beating these men? Have they done something to you to deserve this treatment in return? Speak up, though in my mind, there is no excuse for such behavior among our own people."
Thirteen pairs of eyes turned towards the lone woman before them, who was now twisting her skirt in her hand nervously.
"What is their crime?" she repeated.
Finally, one man cleared his throat and replied, "Spreading false hope. Talking of a better life, driving us mad with their talk of rebellion. Is that not enough to cause us to hate them?"
Eowyn surveyed the three men wordlessly. One was very old, with tangled graying hair and a faded cloak. The second was a good deal smaller; he must still be a boy, or maybe just a very short man. And the third. As Eowyn stared into his face, she thought of how defeated he looked. Cuts and bruises everywhere, he bore the wounds of battle. A dark face, yes, yet his eyes still shone with an inner light that seemed to bore into her very soul. A look of recognition passed this man's face, but he quickly concealed it.
'Join us Eowyn, help us in our quest to reclaim Middle Earth'. With a start, Eowyn noticed that the weathered old man was speaking to her, yet he was not moving his mouth. Suddenly he grabbed her wrist in a desperate act. She pulled away quickly, now wary and frightened, though she was determined not to show it.
'How does he know my name?' she thought. The man's eyes were alight with hope or was it madness? She couldn't tell.
'You are scaring her. Let her remember on her own.' The dark-haired man rested a callused hand on the old one's shoulder. 'Give her time.' The voice inside her head was gentle, soft. She knew that voice, and she struggled to place it. But as she tried to remember, a sharp pain raged through her body, and the image of an eye of flame burned itself into her mind. Eowyn, however, did not show any outward signs of the invasion of her mind. She had learned not to feel, not to show feeling long ago
**********
Sweat poured down Sam's face as he hacked away at the rock wall, aided by a lethally sharp pickaxe. He glanced over at his neighbor, who was equally exhausted. Over the past year, Gimlee had lost much weight, and now, he hardly looked like the same dwarf. It was painful to Sam how their old friendship was gone, replaced by a polite acquaintance; Sam remembered The Age Before, yet Gimlee did not. As for Legolas, he could not tell. The elf had denied himself food, sleep, or talk, and, Sam thought sadly, his sanity.
Everyone was different. Some remembered, but were too pained by the memory to mention their former lives. Others found it easier to forget over time. Still others had not remembered The Time Before since that fateful day when Middle Earth had fallen into the dark hands of the Master. Sam shuddered. More than anything, he hated to be alone, and he knew that the thoughts chasing themselves round in his head could not be shared with his former friends. He needed someone to spill his memories and fears into, but as for this, he was alone.
"Get back to your shelters," an Ork captain shouted above the noise of metal striking rock. Sam looked up to see his small pile of dirt; it was roughly half the size of those around him. He sighed inwardly. Even in his old life, daydreaming had got him into trouble. He knew he would be punished for not working hard enough later, but for right now, all he wanted was a bed to collapse on. Sam needed the release of sleep, and he knew no amount of flogging could keep him from his rest. They would not break him.
As he left the mines, the groups of women and children who would sift through the men's piles of dirt, entered. What a cold creature he must be, to only want jewels and shiny metals, Sam thought as he trudged along. The sun's rays pierced the horizon as Sam fell into his rough cot and rolled onto his stomach. Three log strips of fresh blood oozed down his back and stained his filthy sheets as sleep overtook him.
