Several days have passed since last Maiestas has been lost to the recollections of the past. She has been busy, working not only at smoothing out the rough edges in her staff, but also in the learning of archery. Countless hours has she spent at the shooting range, pulling, aiming, releasing. She has improved much in the skill, though her fingers ached horribly for it. Blisters had long since formed and broken, seeping and bleeding until the calluses had begun to heal over them. She was at least able to now draw back the string of the bow without her arm trembling and her fingers being ripped open.

She had Elrohir to thank for the proper instruction in handling the weapon, for never before had she lifted one before that day he'd come upon her. She had been a miserable failure at the practice, the arrows falling from the string to land at her feet, or the twang of the string snapping as the arrow had remained in her fingers. Her frustration had been great until his patience had broken through her problems, his hands showing her how to hold the bow, level the arrow, and keep her elbow up as she pulled back on the string.

If there were technical terms for the actions she performed, she had no knowledge of them. She had not asked after them, nor had he offered. The tension between them was thick and with just cause. Elladan had yet to fully recover from the wounds bestowed upon him by those in the dark tower of Barad-dur. She steers her mind clear of that particular time, though the collected herbs she had in hand falls to the ground from limp fingers, forgotten as the very thought of the dark stoned spire seems to slam her back to another time…

The crags and rocks jut into the sky, as if pleading to be released from this hell on earth. The very ground here is black, colored by the evilness that holds tightly to it. From high above, it would appear as though hundreds of ants scurried to and fro, seeking food or the order of the line they were destined to follow. Upon closer inspection, however, one was able to see that the tiny forms were not insects, but monsters. Though not overly tall, they were no less ugly then what would scare a child to screaming if they plagued a dream.

Screams seemed to echo throughout the land; screams of outrage and of sparring, but loudest of all were the screams of pain. Many levels reverberated with the heartrending sounds, creating a cacophony of terror that would place chills in even the stoutest of souls. The rooms filled with devices designed only for torture held those poor beings that prayed hourly for the release of death, the ending of their pain. Their minds would never be the same even if they did manage to escape, which has never been done. Blood pooled on the floor, stepped through by the booted feet of orcs who, taking pleasure in the agony of their victims, pushed further and further, until either blackness took them or death embraced them.

One room of such design was eerily silent of the torturous sounds, yet not so of the grunts, yells, curses, and taunts of the orcs who surrounded the naked and bleeding form of a silver haired elf, huddled upon the floor. Dull thuds bounced cruelly off the walls of the bower room as the feet of the instigators met different parts of her flesh. They held no concern for the broken bones nor the lacerations they would give to her, not since the play had only just began again after having to leave her from the prior days activities.

-------------------------

Never had Maiestas felt such pain and horror, held such longing in her soul to go back, to die the same day as her parents had. Her body ached worse then she imagined possible. Last night, as she'd been dragged up the stairs of the tower, she had reached out, seeking a hold on anything to stop the movement that bruised and battered her body. The stones that the orcs following had hurled at her were sharp and merciless to the tender flesh. Her fingertips had finally been able to find purchase on a jutting of a stone in the wall, stopping her movements for but a moment. As Sharku's thick-fingered hand tightened around her ankle, jerking him to a sudden stop, he turned to growl at her.

"What'd ya think you're doin'?" he growls at her while he lashes out with his foot to kick her solidly in her upper thigh, eliciting a gasp from her lips and bringing tears to her eyes.

Her hands had refused to let go, for who knew what fate awaited her at the pinnacle of this monstrosity? In retrospect she should have let go, but hindsight was always sharper, even for an elf. As he jerked with all his might on her ankle, her fingers slid from the stone with such force that the fingernails that tipped them were torn off and bent back, exposing the tender flesh beneath. A gasp of pain was torn from her lips at the rendering of her nails, her fingers curling within themselves to still the shocking pain.

The remainder of the upward journey was no less painful, but had she known what was to await her, she would have fought all the more hard. Within the room she was taken rested a large board with leather restraints at one end, mid-point, as well as a larger one at the other end. Beside the board, hanging from pegs shoved into the walls of stone were an assortment of whips, blades, and what looked to be clubs. As if those items alone were not enough to instill fear into the bravest of hearts, then the blood that stained them would definitely push them over the edge.

Across the room, chains hung from both the wall, secured by a large circular ring to the wall. There were rings in the floor at various points as well, as though there to taunt a captive of the many positions they would possibly be placed in. Another ring hung from the ceiling, placed so that the rings on the floor might also be used when chains from the ceiling hanged the form.

It was to the rings that were at the wall she was dragged. Another orc had been waiting with shackles and as soon as Sharku dropped her leg he was kneeling, securing chainless shackles around her ankles, then her wrists. She struggled to fight him, but a quick blow by his fist to the side of her head and she stilled immediately, too stunned to even cry out.

With an efficiency and speed that attested to the number of times he had performed just this very action, he slid a thick chain through the rings on each of the wrist shackles, yanking her up harshly to stand while her hands were stretched high above her. Her toes lifted from the ground as fire ripped through her shoulders at the weight that had now settled in them, strained from the weight of her body. As Lothra knelt before her, to lace more chains through the ankle circlets, she kicked out, her foot meeting his dirty chin. A grunt and roar of pain as he fell back coupled in the room by laughs of those orcs who had followed her up, tossing the stones at her. This seemed to only fuel his anger so that his fist struck even harder into her stomach, stealing her very breath. Bile rose in her throat as the task that Lothra had set out to complete was finished. Once a chain was wound through both rings at her ankles, two orcs came forward to secure those chains to corresponding rings in the floor.

Her position now was as vulnerable as she, her legs spread even as her arms were. Her form was stretched taut and she was unable to ease any of her muscles, for they all were tight and trembling. She looked up as Sharku stepped before her, his hand occupied as he had pulled one of the many whips from the wall.

"Now about that scream ya owe me…"

His strength was great, his aim impeccable, and his stamina immeasurable as over and over he lashed her back, sides, and front. The lines that were cut into her tender flesh mingled with the smaller wounds from the rocks and stairs. The blood that flowed from her wounds trailed down the lines of her body, dripping from the ends of her toes and heels to puddle beneath her. She had to grit her teeth, for she refused to scream, she would not give him what she wanted. Her hair, though not the white silver of the Noldors, was no less stunning with its deeper, almost mercurial hue. It had been the exact color of her mothers locks, though now it was muddied not only by the filth of the ground, but by the red of her body's life liquid. It hung around her face and body in limp tangles, giving her some semblance of dignity as it shielded her.

It proved to be too much for her, the hours, or had it been only minutes? That he continued without pause, moving around her to be sure to strike all of her he could reach. Though she had cried softly, mewling into her arm she buried her face in, crying and sobbing silently, the pain had just become too much to bear. Fire was lit upon her flesh, burning and searing deeper then she had thought bearable even in her darkest of nightmares. Her scream had exploded from her lips, unknowing even to her until she heard it as though through a fog, mingling with the chortling laughter of those who had remained to watch, placing bets on how long she would hold out. That final strike, where the tendril of the whip had sliced even deeper as it had lain itself on an already existing welt, had broken her.

After her scream, Sharku had continued for only a few lashes more, finally abating as her head fell forward, limp in exhaustion and agony. Moving around her again, he yanked on her hair, forcing her head up so she had to look at him with wet and glazed eyes.

"I knew ya wouldn't last, that I'd be able to get ya to scream for me. You'll do more for me tomorrow, but ya aren't allowed to die, Elf. No, the master, he has plans for ya… you'll see." His breath had been rank as it came to her face, causing her to gag. He had released her then, leaving her as all the others proceeded him out of the room. The door closing reverberated in the room, causing her to slowly lift her head as her entire form began trembling uncontrollably, the chains rattling with the force of the shaking.

Maiestas could feel only pain, only burning agony. She is unable to remember, even though it had been only earlier that very day, what it was to not hurt, to not feel the warmth of your own blood escaping from your torn flesh. Her eyes had lifted slowly to look at the door, confusion coming a close second to the pain. Why had she been brought here? Why had they come for her? No answers had been given, as she'd been beaten, not even a question. Why the mindless torture that she suffered from? Tears rise unbidden to course down her cheeks, falling to her naked breasts. Rivulets are formed in the blood as the salty tears cleanse the red taint from her pale flesh.

She had remained thusly throughout the long hours of what she assumed were the night, for in this room she could not tell. Not a single window graced the walls to give a hint at the sky that was outside. How she longed for a sight of the stars, a glimpse of the silmaril that would glow from the brow of Earendil.

It had been what she could assume was hours later that Sharku and Lothra had returned, bringing with them 4 others. Lothra had released her from the chains that had restrained her arms, her form crumbling to the floor with a hard thump. She was limp, unable to move. Her legs he left shackled to the floor as they all surrounded her, forcing her to slink back into herself so she is able to curl into the fetal position as they begin right off beating her. Their feet land firmly, striking her legs, her arms, one meeting her head, another the small of her back. She arches forward with that kick to her back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her head whips back, her eyes clenched tightly with pain. She received no reprieve however, as with this exposing of her head face, Sharku took that opportunity to swing his massive booted foot at her face, the metal clasp on it slicing deeply into her brow. Blood follows the path of his foot, spurting forth to splatter against his feet.

As blackness threatened to overtake her just then, causing Lothra to lift his hand, stilling the others in their attack of her. The feet stopped yet the sneering comments continued.

"Why can't we jes kill 'er?" growls one of them.

"The Master 'as a use fer 'er" is the answer from her other side. She hears these words but is unable to comprehend them just now.

"That means we can't even 'ave good fun with 'er!" the high-pitched whine of a third breaks through the thick fog of her mind, giving her at least a soft bit of relief. Thank the Valar, they will not touch her in that manner.

Another kick slams into her in that moment, hitting her directly in the groin area as the same whiney voice yells down at her. His anger was such because it was well known, and tested by these very beings, that the light of the elves can diminish if such acts were forced upon them.

"Maggoty elves and their bloomin' lights!" his yell is cut short as, with a guttural cry, his life is stolen from him.

Sharku's scimitar had slammed down onto his head, splitting his skill in two. He had disobeyed the order to still all movements, and punishments for insubordination were harsh and swift in these lands.

Her cry of anguish resounded through the room, for never in her many years of life had anything ever touched her in that area of her body. That the first touch would be so painful was nothing short of a complete shame. Blood flowed from her freely from those lower areas now, causing Lothra to shake his head.

"Nah. It's no good to keep at her today. She'll fade if we do. She'll need a couple o' days from that ones kick did, or her insides'll shrivel up." His tone held neither compassion nor worry of whether she should actually decide to journey to the Halls of Mandos.

It was Sharku that ranted, throwing his sword across the room to slam onto the bench then clatter to the floor with a clang.

"If his strike kills her, the Dark Lord will call for the death us all. She isn't to die, he's a use for her and that staff of hers," he spoke to Lothra while motioning to her staff, which was leaning against the wall on the far side of the room.

Leaving her soon after, she remained huddled on the floor shivering, warmed only by the feel of her own blood. Her left eye was swollen now almost to the point of complete closure, the wound upon it making the flesh angry. She slowly moved her arms, pulling them into her midsection as she'd been splayed on the floor from the kick to her face followed so closely by the kick to the apex of her thighs. The kick had shocked her to the very core of her being, harming her far worse then any of the previous torture had.

As she curled into herself, the lines that had been cut into her back yesterday by the whip split back open, the blood from those now streaming down as well. How much could she stand to lose? How long could she hold out? How long would this continue? All of these questions rolled in her mind as sobs wracked her pitiful form, her soft cries whispers in the black room.

Maiestas is completely unaware that she had stilled, moving not at all from the moment the memory began. Her hands hang limply at her sides. Her eyes, dilated despite the light of the sun, stare forward seeing another place, a darker place. Her face is expressionless even as she does regain her thoughts and the knowledge of where she is. She does not weep, she does not cry. Not now, not again. She would not shed another tear for the pain she experienced.

Her eyes, however, drift closed, until the long dark lashes rest on her cheeks.