1Wow! That's a-lot of reviews in a short time! You guys must really like this! So, as a treat, here is #23. Just a warning, this story is coming to an end pretty soon. : ( It would take me a while to come up with the plot for a sequel... No promises.
Tari stood before Sircin, awaiting what tasks she would have to perform. She didn't even hear him approach her. Nor did she care when he tilted her chin upward so he could look into her dark eyes. "It seems I've finally broken you..." he said, reveling in her distraught appearance, her pale skin, dark eyes, and her scantily clad starved body.
"You will never break me, Sircin..." Tari hissed.
"But I have! Do not think that I have not hear your sobs as you cry to the Valar for release from here. I know your thoughts; you believe he has betrayed you and left you here to die." Sircin gloated, walking around her and speaking close to her ear.
"That does not mean you've broken me..." Tari said, ignoring the chills going up and down her spine. "Why do you keep me here? What use am I to you?"
"You are out of my way, and you entertain my men... Even if I did let you go, I doubt that Legolas would love a dark lord's whore."
Tari lunged at him and grabbed the silver dagger hanging at his belt. She had just unsheathed it when she was thrown backward by an immense force, causing her to crash into the hard wall and crumple to the floor; the dagger skidding far away across the floor.
"You will pay dearly for that!" Sircin roared, storming over to pick up his dagger, before advancing on Tari; who had just gotten shakily to her feet. He ran at her, forcing her up against the wall, and holding the dagger at her throat. "You are too much trouble... I should do away with you right now!"
Tari kneed him hard in the groin, causing him to fall backwards, and the dagger to fall to the floor again. Tari ran hard to the opposite side of the room, where there was a coat of arms decorated with two real swords. She pulled one out, and turned to face to the dark lord, who had stood once again with a grimace of pain. His face was all fury, and no mercy what-so-ever shone in his eyes. Tari threw him the other sword, saying, "This ends today. Here. Now."
Sircin picked up the sword, grinning evilly. "You will regret your challenge, bitch." He lunged, thrusting his sword at her. Tari parried and kicked out at him, striking him hard in his already injured groin. With a cry of rage, he came at her again. Tari blocked his sword, but he swung it around and tried again. And again. For more than an hour this dance of blades went on. But to the fighters, time didn't matter. Their swords clashed again, bringing them face to face.
"Are you ready to die Tari?" he hissed, a trickle of blood falling down his cheek where Tari had sliced his flesh.
"Not before you!" was her answer as she pushed him away and swung her sword at him. It sliced his arm. She swung again, and he was too slow to dodge it again. The blade plunged into his chest. Sircin roared in agony and anger. Tari pushed harder, until it sunk up into the hilt, before pulling it out and delivering a final blow across his neck; spilling his blood across the black marble floor. He was dead.
Tari dropped her sword, finally feeling the pain of her own wounds. One deep gash across her stomach, and one down her leg. Her ankle was severely sore, and probably broken... But that didn't matter right now. She had to leave before anyone knew that she had killed Sircin.
Her feet carried her out of the hall, and down the corridors. She instinctively knew where the entrance to the castle was; having tried to escape to there once. Thrice she had been confronted by orcs, but she lied to them; saying that Sircin had sent her on some urgent errand.
Sircin's private stables were filled with fast horses... Tari didn't have time to choose. Her hands moved faster than the human eye as she saddled a tall black (there was no other color) stallion, and mounted him. He remained calm under the elven touch of the maiden; having never known such kindness. If Tari could make it to Minas Tirith before she lost too much blood, she might have a chance. Already her body was weak from the years of malnutrition and torture. She kicked her horse into a gallop, and fled the gates. The moment she breached them, a hail of arrows followed her. None hit her horse, but two skimmed her arm; slicing deeply into the fair flesh. She bit her lip against the blinding pain, and spurred her horse faster...
How far would she get before the pain and exhaustion overtook her? Who would be waiting for her at Minas Tirith? And would Legolas listen to Aragorn and Arwen's advice?