For the life of her, Maiestas could not figure out the finer arts of that weapon. It had been difficult for her before and still it remained so. Where she had believed she was making progress, she had only been fooling herself. Hours had just been spent releasing the string to have the arrows simply fall to the ground. Out of the hundred or so arrows she'd fired, three had flown down the range. She did not hit the target a single time.
Shaking her head, a whisper of a smile touches her lips before it disappears just as quickly as it had shown itself. Perhaps she was just not meant to learn that particular way of defense. Tightening her fingers around the staff, she glances up to its tip, looking at the blue egg-shaped stone that had been placed with love long ago.
Years had passed with wounds coming and going. After the first week of rather constant abuse of various sorts, it tended to move on towards the more focused, the more tedious. Not one of the blades and whips that had hung from the pegs on the walls went unused. All had tasted her blood eventually; all had made her scream to the morbid satisfaction of her tormentors. The main two instigators, Sharku and Lothra, proved their skills to lie within all aspects of torture, from the grotesque to the mental.
They had little problem showing her bits of both, yet it was always the mental that she had feared the most. After years of physical abuse of every fashion and form, save one, she came to have nightmares due to the mental anguish she was put through. The wounds of her flesh would fade, even if the memory of how they were administered would not. She could not fade however, no matter the seriousness and depth of what they did to her, for she had made a promise to herself and never had she broken an oath yet. The temptation to close her eyes, to allow the light of the Valar to come to her, had been strong, had been hard to resist. It was one thought, one in her minds eye that held her so firmly rooted to the life that was filled with pain, humiliation, and suffering.
Never far from her heart was the memory of the Elf Lord who had pulled her from her dead mothers arms as an elfling. Never was his stern visage and quiet voice out of her mind. It had been her promise regarding him that forced her to continue, for she had sworn to herself as she left Imladris so long ago that she would return to see him, regardless of what was needed. She could even now see his long hair; the dark locks blowing gently in a soft breeze as they frame features while the points of his ears peek through. The scent of his hair had stuck with her from that day she had buried her face in it, held tightly and safe in his strong embrace as he carried her away from her burning home. Had she known that she would end up betraying Elrond Peredhil even by keeping her promise, she just might have broken that one bond and journeyed into the Halls of Mandos.
The purpose of her capture, of the torture, of the years of imprisonment, had been revealed to her after seventeen tedious years. For that long she had wondered what she did, what rule of life she broke to be called to such a hell. No light or darkness came to her, not even the light of the stars she craved so deeply, for the walls of the room she was kept in held out all hint of light. A hideous being, known to her only as the Mouth of Sauron, had come to her one day, or was it night? She had barely been able to focus on his figure for the days she had been without water and any fashion of food. This had been a result of the latest form of mind torture they had performed upon her person. His tall form had loomed over her, backlit by the torches light to create a sort of glow around him. For a moment, she had believed herself to be hallucinating as the dark robes shifted to lengths of hair, the voice coming forth to her not as what it should have, but as Elrond's.
"Your years here have been long and hard." A soft laugh that had seemed to sound as though no humor had ever touched it drifted to her ears, bringing with it the clarity that this most certainly was not Lord Elrond.
Blinking slowly, she shifted on the floor, pushing herself to sit upright. She had been given clothing long ago, rags really, though the lack of clothing had now ceased to bother her. Never had she been touched sexually and she had grown somewhat used to being touched by the grimy hands of Lothra and Sharku. She held no liking for either of them, yet they were nonetheless familiar to her.
"Would you like now to know why you have been brought to Barad-dur, the Tower of Darkness?" his smile was gruesome with the long teeth that could easily bite through even the toughest of materials.
"Yes," her voice has a rasp in it that had not been there before, stealing the musical and ethereal quality. It could possibly be from the lack of moisture, or simply from the many hours it had been used to scream. She had long since given up fighting that battle.
His movements are quick, so fast that they startle her to flinch, expecting a strike of some sort. He crouches before her, the blackness of his robes the purest of the color, holding not even a tinge of gray. He snaps out his hand and captures her chin in his long fingers, holding with a cruel tightness. The Lieutenant of Barad-dur takes several long and drawn out moments to study her, forcing her head to turn this way and that.
"There is some form of sorcery at work with you that My Lord Sauron desires. You will not taste death but supplication. You will not escape but will see release. Your oath is required, a bond, to the Master. Once such is given, you will hear from him the deeds you are to commit. You will summon from the dead one he seeks."
The shock of the reason had been deep, for she had felt with it confusion. Through the years she had heard so much of the Black Speech that she would be able to speak it with perfection now. The spells she had read of, had memorized, had discovered, would come easily to her tongue. It was this she had been taken for? This ability she had always felt as a gift, as a wonder for the life it could bring. Beyond the fawn she had not brought another soul back to life and was, in fact, astonished to learn she had been able to successfully call that poor young soul back after reading of the difficulty of such a spell.
"No. I will not." Her voice, though soft and trembling for fear of this being that gripped her painfully, was firm. Her eyes snapped with refusal, for never would her abilities be put to such use.
His laughter is mocking and quick to come as his fingers tighten on her jaw, squeezing until she is certain her bones will snap. Her hands, chained to the floor by her wrists, are unable to lift to rid her of his touch. Though she pulls back, he does not release her. When she knows that the bone of her jaw will submit to his force, he releases her, shoving her back as he rises swiftly and turns. Through his grotesque teeth, orders are issued to Lothra.
"Restrain her on the table."
"Yes, My Lord."
Never had she heard Lothra's voice so cowed. Truly this figure whose face was masked by the black helm was one to be feared. Shaking her head and pulling at her limbs as they are freed and grasped by the four orcs that come forward at Lothra's orders, she knows suddenly a terror unlike anything known prior. Something hints at her that what is to happen next will be a point in her life she will not likely forget.
As she is placed on the table, her scarred limbs stretched to the point of being excruciatingly painful, he browses along the wall of weapons. The mid-restraint, a wide band that crosses her tummy, is placed on her this time, assuring her that what is to come will be detrimental to her, both mind and soul
With the bands holding her, she is unable to move but for her head, which is currently turned to watch him reach forth to pluck from the wall a knife. The blade of this weapon, already crusted with her blood, was jagged and rough. It would hurt, as it did not actually slice her flesh, but rip it.
"No, please. I am not able to do what it is he seeks, I have not the ability!" her cry is pleading, as she has no desire to feel this pain. Not again.
Stepping close to the table, she can feel his robes brush against her flesh. It is odd that in this specific moment she should feel such softness, such coolness from something so dark. The blade is moved over her, trailing up the length of her legs as she can only tremble.
"An oath is desired, Elf Child." His answer is immediate before he smiles down at her, his head jerking to the side to apparently look at her, though she is unable to tell for the covering over his eyes. "Many have been the days when your screams and pleas have echoed through the halls of my tower. I have tired of hearing the name of the Elf you call to release you."
Stopping the knife over her torn tunic, he slips the blade beneath the edge and cuts it from her breast, exposing the white flesh, crisscrossed with scars from whips. There really is little of her skin that is unmarked at this time.
"What are you doing?" She pulled and sought freedom, though it is all in vain. The bonds held well.
"You give us a constant reminder of that one which fills your thoughts, you shall get the same in return." And with little further ado, his hand turned to press the irregular blade to her flesh as his lips whisper words she might be able to identify, if she could hear them over her own screams.
The pressure he pushed down with not even an inch above her left breast was the most biting kiss she had ever felt. It was not just the pain from the steel to her flesh that brought with it the sting, but also the spell of his words. Ever would this wound harm her, even after a scar had formed. Curving it downward at a slow angle, he then jerked it harshly to the right, angling it upwards then. Not lifting the point from the wound, he turned it as it was buried to go down once again, only to jerk back to the right and up.
Fire remained as the nicked blade is taken from her skin, such a burn that it brought bile to her throat. She was unable to control the sickness that overtook her as the Mouth of Sauron turned to leave her, bleeding and marked by his touch and sorcery.
It was only later, once she had been released from the leather straps that had held her still for his ministrations that she was able to look at her newest acquisition. Huddled on the floor, her back pressed to the coolness of the stone, she glanced down to peer through the blood that had since dried and crusted. What she saw caused a gasp of anger, shock, and humiliation to pass unnoticed from her lips. There, carved for eternity upon the flesh protecting her heart, was the elven mark:
E
She touched it lightly with her fingertips, the blood unnoticed along with the sting of the pressure. As if the knowledge of his touch to her mind was not enough, now a brand to her body would serve as a constant reminder.
Many more years passed in much the same manner as the previous seventeen, though now they sought not only to humiliate her and show her what they could do, but also to force her into making this oath. It was now not only Sharku and Lothra who spent their time with her, but the Mouth of Sauron took time out of his schedule to pay the occasional visit to her. She withheld for thirteen years more, dealing with the hours of treatments, the stretches of time without food, water, or rest of any fashion. It was in that thirtieth year that she could hold out no longer.
Her shackles had been released, the scars and calluses that formed bands around both her ankles and wrists bright against the rest of her flesh. She had been speechless when they'd undone the bonds, for it was the very first time in all the years she had been in the care of the Black Tower. She was led out of the room that had become her home and down a steep flight of stairs. She could recall briefly being dragged up those very stairs and the fear of the unknown. Would that she had died that day.
To another room, far deeper and larger, she was taken. Along the far wall several Men had been lined up: Men, Women, and Children of varying ages. Their clothing was bedraggled and torn, their faces dirty and filled with fear. Pity instantly lifted to her features, her eyes moving over each of them. Having had no inkling as to what was going to occur, she glanced to Lothra in confusion, yet it was Sharku who had chosen to speak at that moment, his words and voice more cultured then the others.
"You now hold in your hands the fate of each Human in this room." The word human is nearly sneered from lips that curl with derision. "For every minute you delay in making the oath, a child will be slain before its parents, followed first by the woman, then the man, so the man will know complete failure with his life." The smile that touches his lips could in no fashion be thought of as normal or sane.
Sucking in a breath as she turned to look at the horrified faces of those who were now crying in fear and desperation, she shook her head and turned to beg Sharku. Reaching out, she gripped at his arm, her eyes already filling with tears for she knows they will show no pity.
"No, you must not do this, there is not even an evil this dark as to allow such a thing to happen. Sharku, you cannot do this!" She is unable to control the shudder that moves in her voice, yet that is nothing to the cry that is torn from her throat as the scimitar falls to the first victim.
It was done just as Sharku had threatened. She was forced to watch while Lothra held her as she struggled, sobs wracking her frame. The cries and sorrow of the humans mingled with her own, until finally, after only a meager six minutes, she succumbed to their demands. She could deal with the sight no longer, knowing she could stop it.
"STOP! Yes, I shall do it! You have my oath, my word, only please…Cease this torment" and she fell to the floor in a heap, tears streaming freely down her face to trace lines of clean flesh on the filth of her pale skin. "Release them, allow them freedom from this cursed realm." She cannot bear to even look at them, for she knew she would see the blame and hatred.
They knew not what had been asked of her, could not possibly understand what it was she had just done, what she had given up. The remaining men, women, and children were led out, where their fate is to this very day unknown.
Her fate had been sealed that day. The words she spoke before crumpling to the floor at Lothra's feet were enough to secure her soul to the will of the Dark Master.
Her lessons would soon begin.