Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Some of the scenes in this chapter may be unsettling to read. If you find them disturbing, just go to the next paragraph. Also, if you're the kind that listens whenever an author recommends a song for a scene, you might to get Beethoven out now.
The foremost memories were more firsthand. They were fast and uncertain. You were underwater, surfacing and submerging and hearing yourself gasp for breath. Looking towards the sky and moving very fast while the sun poured blindingly through the trees into your eyes. A tall, scruffy-looking man who looked mean brought his sword down over you and your own small, white hands held the sword that barely blocked it from your face. You were in the back of a covered cart, watching the light that came through the back flaps into the darkness. So many blurs, so much ambiguity. Then everything comes to a halt, and the world is black.
The following memories are considerably more clear. You feel as though you are there, watching it happen, and no one else knows. It is when the dream feels almost real.
A man of no great height marched purposefully up the path, led by two orcs and followed by a thin, cloaked figure. They four walked up the narrow stairwell to a high room where Sauron, the Dark Lord himself, was looking over maps and attack plans. A thick gold ring was on his finger. He did not pay his visitor any heed for some time, and the caller had begun to shift from side to side and tap his fingers before he was given any attention.
"What do you want, Bradwr?" Looking possibly more smug than was wise, Bradwr answered, "I have something you may find of value, and I've come to strike a deal with you." When Sauron didn't respond, the man continued. "I believe you remember my mentor, Fatir. He foolishly denied you his allegiance and the use of his craft. I think my first offering will satisfy you." He snapped his fingers and the hooded person untied a bag. Opening the bag, they produced the severed head of an old man, the face twisted in surprise. "As you can see," Bradwr continued, "I do not share Fatir's opinions. Once I learned all I could from him, I had exercised that power; what I show you now is the result."
He strode over and took the hood off his cohort. The girl was revealed. She had more fat on her face, her hair looked shorter, and she appeared to be a few inches shorter, but there was no mistaking her flat, splotched locks or dead stare. "Here is the proof that the student has surpassed the master." Bradwr sounded very confident.
Sauron stared at the girl, who stared ominously back. "…What is this?" he said angrily. Bradwr's self-satisfied look wavered. "She is what Fatir could never accomplish. She is the first to survive the process, designed to be everything and anything you want her to be. She-" Sauron angrily grabbed the man by his collar and shook him. "Are you trying to con me, you maggot! What use do I have for another shiftless sluggard!"
For the first time, Bradwr's arrogant manner disappeared. He cowered and held up his hands in pitiful self defense. "Please, sir," he pleaded. "Just let me prove her worth to you." Sauron gave him a menacing stare, but lowered him slowly back onto his feet.
Thoroughly shaken but still resolved, Bradwr spoke. "One of the most important qualities bred into her is the capacity to learn quickly and surely. She is barely two months old as it is, but I think you'll find that she can handle a sword quite well, and she improves with every practice. Observe." He unsheathed his sword but Sauron waved his hand impatiently. "Later. Get on with it."
Gulping, Bradwr continued. "Another trait designed into her is compliancy; she is already as land-based as you or I, but she can also hold her own in the air or in the water. She has better underwater vision than any being that doesn't live in a river, and she's been taught to hold her breath for a remarkable period of time. Also, uh… I'll just show you." Turning towards her, he ordered her doff her single cloak. She obeyed, and in doing so, revealed something quite remarkable; a set of large, leathery wings protruded from a hole in the back of her jerkin. Bradwr spread them out until they were six feet long and three feet wide on either side. "Despite how light she is, her wingspan is not enough to elevate her, but the mere fact that they exist on such an imperfect version promises great things for the next." This last bit was added quickly when Bradwr noticed how irritated Sauron looked.
"As you can see, she looks human enough, but these ears and eyes function almost as well as those of an elf. And the advantage she has over elves is that while their ears are stationary, hers are as mobile as a fox's.
"And possibly her most important feature is her sense of loyalty. She will obey one and one alone. Once she recognizes an individual as her master, she will not stray until that master passes her on to another." Sauron snorted disgustedly. "You killed your mentor the moment you had no use for him, and yet you speak of loyalty as though you value it." Taken aback, Bradwr retorted, "If you don't believe it, allow me to demonstrate for just how obedient she can be."
Rather than wait for a response, he turned and signaled to two orcs who stood nearby. While they approached, he muttered to her, "Don't make a move without my word." Then he motioned for them to attack her. They needed no encouragement to do so. While they fell on her with kicks and punches, she doubled over and fell, but made no move to defend herself. The beating went on for two minutes without slowing before Bradwr said in a loud voice, "Now." The orc who had been about to kick her in the jaw lost his balance when she rolled out of the way and lost his life when she pulled a dirk from her belt and cut his throat. She turned and crouched, hands raised and fingers curled, prepared to spring should the other decide to continue. She was bruised up and there was a gash on her cheek, but she was no worse for the wear.
Bradwr waved the surviving orc away and showed his approval with slow, controlled claps as he turned to see if Sauron's manner if improved at all. He was relieved to find that it had. The Dark Lord had begun with his whole weight on one hand and leaning against the table with an irate look on his face. He was now standing erect with his arms crossed, stroking his chin. He looked as though he was pondering what he had just seen.
"And her faults?"
Surprised by this question, Bradwr answered, "Her hearing is terrific, but she can't speak. And she can't write, but she reads anything put in front of her." Sauron growled, "Something that matters, you moronic dolt." A muscle in Bradwr's cheek twitched. "Her skills with a bow are limited, and I've never bothered to name her, so you'll have to think of one yourself. She's not as strong as a male, but she can be replaced when I make a man or her strength can grow." "Is that everything?" "It's as I said, sir; she's designed to be ideal."
Sauron studied her again and said, "Follow me. Both of you." He walked away without waiting for either of them, and Bradwr motioned for her to follow him. They walked down a steep flight of stairs to what looked like the remains of a gutted room where chunks of the walls were missing and orcs manned sinister-looking machines. Sauron said something in orcish to one of his minions, and a menacing grin crept over the orc's face as he rushed off. Moments later, something caused such a disturbance that the other orcs became distracted from their prior activities. They began to jeer and cackle as an elf was dragged forward and thrown on his hands and knees.
"Anyone with a hand and use of their brain can fight," Sauron said. "But can she watch?" While he spoke, the orcs poured large quantities of a clear liquid over the elf, who was stared at the ground, his elbows trembling. He looked very worried. The din fell to a hush as one orc brought forth a flaming torch. Now shivering almost violently, the elf raised his head slightly and looked at her with frightened eyes. The orc dropped the torch into the puddle where the elf was kneeling.
Almost instantly, the young elf was completely engulfed in flames. He writhed in agony, and his screams were lost in the roar of the crowd. Sauron smirked to himself and turned to see that while Bradwr had looked away, the girl watched without even wincing, taking in the horrific sight with no hint of compassion. It seemed like a long time before the elf eventually lay still. Saurons spoke in orcish to a handful of orcs, who doused the corpse and dragged it away.
Turning to Bradwr, he said, "She seems to be made of stronger stuff than you. Come with me." No longer looking as though he was not about to be violently sick, Bradwr grinned in a pleased manner. "I thought you'd appreciate what she could offer." She turned to follow them, but Bradwr held up his hand for her to stay. "You stay here for now," he said. "Familiarize yourself." She watched Sauron walk away while Bradwr said to him, "You know, she also knows a great deal about human anatomy, making her a more effective killer!"
Glancing around, it was obvious that everyone had lost interest in her. The orcs paid her no heed and resumed their activities. She wandered around for quite a while, observing her surroundings, until she rounded a corner and came to a deserted area where the elf's carcass had been abandoned. She walked over to it, flipped it over with her foot, and knelt next to it. It looked as though his clothes had melted onto him. The lips were mostly gone, revealing burnt teeth. The once long, blonde hair had disappeared entirely, and the still smoking flesh was black and crisp. She cupped one side of his face and turned it towards her, surveying him with an almost blank face. Her eyebrows pulled down slightly on the outside.
"Hey!" She turned to see an orc standing nearby. "Sauron and your 'keeper' want you. Get going." She stood and walked in the direction he was pointing. She eventually found them standing next to a pen with several bloodied carcasses laying the background. Bradwr waved her over and pointed into the pen. "If you look closely, you'll see a large animal in there." Indeed, lying on the ground, gnawing hungrily on one of the bodies, was a gigantic creature with two inch teeth, unsightly, mottled fur, and what looked like the shrunken head of a bear. It resembled an exceedingly ugly and incredibly huge hyena.
"That," Bradwr said, pointing to it, "is called a warg. They are very fast and very strong, but no one's sure if they can be used as beasts of war. Get in there and see what you make of it." She looked at him, face still blank, but eyes peering out from beneath brows and lashes. It was entirely likely that she was evaluating his level of sanity, but she laid her cloak over the fence, opened the gate and walked inside anyway, wings dragging uselessly behind her.
Once inside, the beast immediately took notice of her and began to growl. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, but continued her slow advance. The warg stood up on its haunches and snarled. She snarled as well, and her eyes were wide as she began turning to one side as she walked, allowing both of them to start circling each other. Her wings rose up closer to her body while the warg raised its hackles. Their lips were curled and their canines exposed.
The warg swiped at her and her hair almost stood up. She dodged and crouched, one hand extended with her fingers curled. They both hissed and she swiped at him as well. They circled each other for a moment and the warg charged her. The warg was considerably faster and much larger, but its size made it seem clumsy, and she was much more nimble. When it lunged at her, she jumped in the air and, unfortunately, landed squarely on the warg's snout. It was clear from her alarmed expression that this had not been her intention. Scurrying like a squirrel, she scrambled up his back and leapt off. Spinning around, she unfolded her wings. When the warg turned, it saw her as being almost three times her real size and was not as quick to attack. They both continued to hiss and growl. The warg dived at her again, so she skirted to one side and leapt onto its back, holding on with white knuckles. While the animal tried to throw her off, she climbed over it like a lizard on a branch. She clung to its neck and underside as the warg jumped and squirmed. Finally the animal threw itself unto the ground, and she narrowly escaped being crushed.
"Enough!" Bradwr was waving his arms and shouting to the orcs for them to pull the creature away. Hearing this, she shinnied up the nearest post, and stayed there, clinging for her life while the warg snapped at her below, until the orcs managed to pull it away. When she slid back down, Bradwr noticed something. Despite the near miss, the beast had rolled over her leg, and she now had a limp. Bradwr glanced to one side to make sure Sauron wasn't looking and angrily hissed beneath his breath, "Stop hobbling like a common drunk!" Immediately, she straightened out her leg and walked normally, though there was a slight tremor in her elbow when she put her weight on her left foot. Sauron turned around, looking very satisfied. "Rather impressive," he said. "I think we can reach an arrangement." Bradwr nodded, obviously quite pleased with himself. "I'm glad you think so."
That night, in a small, grubby little hut that served as both house and work space, Bradwr spoke openly to her of how he had "successfully promoted a cause as lost as you.
"Really," he said, sounding, if possible, more self-centered than before, "To think that the Dark Lord himself took any interest in the idea, even with such an incomplete model like you. I almost didn't think he'd agree. In fact, why wait for his approval? Give me my book, quickly! I'm going to start on making newer, better ones. With any luck, this next one will be a male. But even if it isn't, Sauron will now have even more expendable servicemen at his disposal, and I'll have the most powerful Lord in Middle Earth as my personal watchdog."
She must have had a strange appearance on her face, because when he saw her, he glared and said, "Don't give me that insolent look, you insect. Did you think that someone as deficient as you would be so useful that you couldn't be replaced? Haven't I taught you anything?" he said condescendingly. "You were bred- no, created- to be the perfect mercenary: silent, deadly, and dedicated. You should have learned by now that you are an object to be used as Sauron, your master, sees fit. He'll need more than the likes of you to have his perfect army completed." Finished reprimanding her, he took up his book and charms and whatnot and ignored her.
She stared at his back and seemed to go over in her mind what he had told her. She was a replaceable asset, he had said, one of many in Sauron's ever-growing collection. She was Sauron's. Her fealty lay with Sauron, not Bradwr, who planned on making her disposable. She set her face and turned, eyeing the wall. It was covered with shelves, lined with books, herbs, jars of slimy objects, etc. On one side was a coat hook, and on the hook was a thick, leather belt. She pulled up one sleeve and studied the long, dark bruises the belt had left on her upper arm and forearm. She pulled her sleeve into place and removed the belt from its hook.
Quietly, she came behind Bradwr and quickly looped the belt over his neck. He made a strange noise in his throat as she tightened her hold on him. Her grip was strong and his attempts to scratch at his neck were utterly futile. He made hoarse gagging sounds, his face turned purple, his eyes bulged, and his tongue was a sickly shade of maroon. She pulled harder and didn't stop until he stopped struggling.
Not pausing to check if Bradwr was dead, she dropped him unceremoniously. She raided the hut of every useful item and began spilling and smashing every jar that lined the walls. She pulled one of the pages from Bradwr's book, placed it in a glass jar, sealed with a cork and wax, and tucked it into her pocket, then doused the book and Bradwr's body with oil from vials. When she finished, she took one of the pieces of firewood from the hearth and dropped it unto the book. The book went up like a fireball, and by the time she had evacuated the structure, it was ablaze. She watched the building burn to the ground before turning her back on it.
Running like a madwoman through the outskirts of Mordor, she avoided being seen by anyone until she found a spot that looked like it rarely saw the light of day. Rolling a particularly large boulder to one side, she dug a small pit and put the jar from her pocket into the hole. She buried it with lightning speed and carefully rolled the rock back into place, taking care to make it appear as though nothing had ever changed.
The next memory featured her standing before Sauron, who was once again pouring over maps and attack plans. An orc held her arm and waited for his lord to say something. Sauron waved the orc away, and the two studied each other with blank, observant stares. "So," he said. "I'm told that Bradwr is dead, and now you show up at my door. Far from coincidence, I think.
"Bradwr is no real loss; he was an insufferable braggart who loved too much the sound of his own voice. And after having thought it over, I had no intention of agreeing to any deal with him. I have my own army and have no need for another. I had even considered having the two of you killed so he could make no more of… you, I suppose I should call it, to ensure that he wouldn't become a rival." He paused, and for a moment, she looked as though she were biting the inside of her lip.
"However," he continued, "since you are here, and presumably have nowhere else to go, I see no reason why I shouldn't put you to good use." He walked away and she followed. He led her out of the building to a cliff where a flying beast was tethered to the ground with a thick chain. A saddle of some sort and reins were on it. "The good news is that I won't be asking you to wrestle with him. The bad news is that you're going to be the test rider. Get on." She obediently climbed atop the dragon-like creature, and it was taken off its leash.
She clicked her heels against its sides, and the monster crawled to the edge of the cliff and jumped. It soon gained altitude as she pulled up on the reins, mimicking the movements of a horseman. It was surprisingly simple to handle, probably because of the reins, and guiding it became steadily easier. At one point, the animal began turning to the left, almost sending her over the edge, and she found she was pulling on one side. While ignoring the scare this had given her, it also allowed her the opportunity to clearly see the land below. Over any other land, the sight would have been stunning, but a dragon's-eye view of Mordor was hardly something to marvel over for any good reason. The land was a gray, barren wasteland with nothing to offer or to support life. She gathered this in and quickly righted herself.
Once, the beast leapt high into the sky and sailed upward, circling in the air. It flew hundreds of feet into the firmament before coasting through the sky. Still leaning forward from her sudden ascension, she held onto the reins with wide eyes. She suddenly started scanning the ground and slowly let go of the reins. She took the cloak and carefully removed it so that her arm was through the neck hole. She cautiously spread out her wings, and when they had reached their full breadth, they started to gently pull on her back, lifting her upward. She gingerly slid her legs off the creature's back as the she was drawn into a hovering position. The look on her face was one of quiet excitement as she almost floated on the back of a dragon. She shortly pulled herself back in and pushed down on the animal's neck, jerking on one the side of the reins. It dove towards the ground and she was thrown back in her seat. She managed to steer it back to its takeoff point and was congratulated by Sauron on her performance.
What followed was a series of flashbacks that all involved her integration into Sauron's army. She joined the lower ranks of the military and learned everything she needed to know to be a soldier. She improved on her every skill, including stealth, fencing, and surviving on her own, while learning new ones, like how to fence with three people at once and come out alive. She knew how to combat with someone and where to strike that would do the most damage. With time, she came to understand the orcish language, ate just as man and elf flesh as any of them, and occasionally sported several ear piercings. Her skill with a bow, or lack thereof, never really improved, but she did learn to swing a thin chain and wrap it around someone's throat. Orcish swords were too heavy for her to even lift with one hand, let alone swing, so she had to make due with whatever elvish swords she could find. Once she managed to steal a set of shiny garments that were remarkably resilient as armor, though fitting the shirt over her wings was a challenge.
Her normal responsibilities involved battling with men and elves, and helping torture prisoners, usually forcing herbs with hallucinogenic properties down one's throat while an orc held the victim's jaws apart and waiting to extract information from them, or something to that effect. The days, weeks, and months blended into an indiscernible length, and she gained some of Sauron's favor.
The situation was far from ideal, of course. The little respect she had from anyone was more than counterbalanced by everyone's resentment for her. Sauron simply put her to work, and never contemplated the fact that she didn't have a name; so she did without one. No one could have cared less about matters of medicine or hygiene. So she spent most of her time absolutely filthy, and if she sustained an injury, she was on her own.
And she had many injuries. Various cuts, bruises, scrapes, sprains, and fractures abounded. One thought that stood out clearly was during a fight with a man that looked at least seven feet tall, very muscular, and highly intimidating. He had tried to use a mace to smash her head in, but when she ducked, he tried to cut off her sword hand. Luckily, she had been wearing her shiny shirt at the time, and he succeeded in merely breaking her wrist. Sauron had been positively livid, and she had to learn to fence with her other hand.
Things really got interesting when their catapult was finally constructed. A favorite pastime was to take some of the dead, or those that really should have been dead by then, and heave them at the unfortunate's own race. Also on the list of objects that were thrown in the enemy's direction was rocks, anyone or anything diseased, and elves that never finished their change into orcs.
An especially memorable event was she saw the Ring for the first time. Sauron held it in his hand and showed it to her, and she fixed her eyes on it with wonderment. She gazed at it, oblivious to everything else. She unconsciously raised her hand and placed one finger near the Ring. Sauron quickly closed his fingers around the Ring, and she blinked out of her incognizant state. "No," he said.
Once, she and an assembly of orcs were lying in wait, preparing to ambush a troop of elves that were supposed to be passing by when one of the orcs started choking and coughing on the piece of meat on which he had been gnawing. Rather than wait for it to be amended, she immediately slit his throat and pushed the body aside. There were no more disturbances from the rabble.
(A/N: If you really want to get into the mood of this scene, put on Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." It's the most melancholic song I've ever heard. You'd probably recognize it from the sledgehammer scene in "Misery." Read slowly.)
The ambush went very successfully; many elves were killed, and several were taken hostage. She seemed to watch one in particular as he was dragged away, kicking and struggling. She saw him again when he was being tormented, first in the strappado, then with bludgeons. Once, he looked in her direction with hopeless, pleading eyes. But he was struck again, and she returned to her task of mutilating another elf with knives of varying temperature.
When an elf was on the edge of his death, he was prepared to be turned into an orc. About a week or so would pass before the change was complete, and she was there again when the elf she had watched emerged, no longer an angelic fighter, but a warped, hellish one, with a hunger for evil and no memory of his past or what he once was.
The "elf" wasn't especially exceptional as orcs go; he obeyed Sauron's orders. He killed his enemies. There was very little, really, to separate him from any other. It never seemed to dawn on him, or on any of the other orcs, that he was fighting against his former comrades, possibly against friends or family. Extravagantly speaking, he had been drained of his memory, and the empty pit that remained had been filled with darkness.
After an especially agonizing battle, she wandered the field, searching for survivors. She found the orc she had been watching; he was dead. Beside him, lay an elf that was breathing heavily. His eyes were partially glazed over. She knelt down beside him and lifted the tear in his tunic; his insides must have been a mess, for she closed her eyes reverently and laid the cloth back down.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground and pulling him over to her, she gently cradled him in her lap and held his hand, softly stroking his face with the other. For a long time, he gripped her hand tightly and searched her face with blank, unseeing eyes as he slowly died. He squeezed her hand, gasped for breath, and when he let the air out, he didn't take any back in. His pupils expanded until they covered his irises, and he lay still.
She sat there with him in her arms for some time, studying his beautiful face, before she stood, gathered his body in her arms, and walked until she came to the edge of the elvish camp. She laid his body down, closed his eyes, and departed without a sound.
(A/N: End song.)
When she returned, she found somewhere where she could be alone, sat down, and thought. She almost didn't hear the next call to battle, but scrambled up and hurried along. She fought with as much vigor as she ever had and slaughtered many, but when it was over, she got right to dragging the captives back and didn't bother trying to fight anyone for the weaponry they had looted. She had a very thoughtful, preoccupied look from that time until the time that she stood waiting by the forge. She looked around at the gruesome sight with which she had become so familiar: that of elves and men writhing in pain while orcs literally tortured them to death.
"Hey!" A heavy mitt used for metalwork flew at her and hit her in the head. The orc that had thrown it was sitting over a restrained elf and said impatiently, "Stop staring into space and get back to work! I ain't got all day, and the rippers ain't gonna heat themselves!" She tossed the glove back to the orc, used the tongs to pick up a set of now red-hot rippers from the edge of the bellows, and handed them over while the orc said, "C'mon, c'mon. Give 'em here." She ignored the elf's screams of anguish and went back to watching the ironwork that was still heating. But when she wasn't at work or practicing war moves with the other orcs or something like that, the preoccupied look would appear again.
There was no real problem with all this free-time thinking, except that it would spill over into the time that wasn't free. More than once, while she was fighting, she would simply stop and start walking back, slaying only those that held her up, regardless of race. Plenty of the other orcs told Sauron what she was doing, but he had yet to do anything about it.
The turning point came when she and an orc named Bahdbosnauk met. Bahdbosnauk made a fine orc; he was a talented warrior with excellent abilities and ruthless precision, no matter which weapon he chose. He slew men and elves without mercy. The trouble was that he was also a fool-headed narcissist who commanded an unwarranted amount of respect and whose victories allowed his already swollen to ego to grow still further.
She was sitting on her own, the preoccupied look on her face when Bahdbosnauk stomped over to her in a huff. "Listen here, ya wench," he said. "I was doing just fine with that human I was fighting until you came over and killed him. Now I've been bringing in more kills than anyone else around here. It's got me a lotta thanks from Sauron himself, and I won't have some ashen-faced female trying to take any of it away from me. Do you got that?"
She probably didn't get it, seeing as she hadn't stopped rubbing her chin or staring ahead. "Did you anything I just said?" he asked angrily. There was no reply. This obvious lack of attention made Bahdbosnauk particularly furious, so much so that he grabbed her and began shaking her back and forth. "Now, you listen to me, ya scrawny little freak! When I say something, you better listen, or I'll make ya wish that puny wisp of a man had never thought ya up!" He now had her attention, but it wasn't for any good reason. Looking slightly sullen, she gripped his wrist and wrenched away from him. This outraged Bahdbosnauk, and he brought his hand back as though to punch her. She pulled a dagger from his belt and forced it under his ribs. He paused in his swing, looked down, wavered and collapsed.
The next few days found her continually sitting on her own. She didn't practice combat procedures, help torment anyone, or go off to fight. The orcs sent someone to go get her; he came back with a broken hand and part of his ear missing.
Sauron could ignore her no longer. Two orcs escorted her to him while he paced slowly and surveyed her ominously. She met his gaze without faltering. He glared angrily at her and suddenly slapped her across the face. She stumbled, but straightened herself and locked eyes with him again. Sauron kicked her in the stomach, and she fell over again, but she still stood up. Livid, he picked her up by the collar and threw her across the room. She hit the wall and fell to the ground. She wasn't as quick to rise that time. "Disgraceful," he said. "Slacking off in your responsibilities, killing orcs, refusing to obey orders. I should have you killed."
But he didn't kill her, opting instead to calmly walk behind her and remove her cloak. She had hid her silver mail uniform, so Sauron never saw them. But he did see her wings, which were tucked up snuggly against her.
Placing his hands on the rather useless appendages, he spread them out until they were high and wide. He gripped the bases and lifted until she was dangling in the air like a rag doll. Sauron began twisting and pulling the wings in different directions simultaneously. She balled her hands into fists, set her teeth, and refused to flinch while cracks and snaps came from her back. Grabbing her around the back of the neck, he held both wing stems in one hand and pulled down on them while the on-looking orcs leered appreciatively. A loud snap rang out as the wings cracked and hung at an odd angle on her. Her eyes opened wide, and she bit her lip until it bled, eventually closing her eyes as though exhausted.
Still handling the disconnected appendages, Sauron let go of her neck, placed in on her back, and started pushing, her eyes closed tight and her fists shaking. He ultimately abandoned pushing with his hand and placed his foot on her back, pushing with that instead. Blood was fairly dripping from her fists where her nails dug into her palms. There were the sounds of tearing and a thick, sickening squelching noise as the set of limbs were ripped from her back. She fell to the ground as Sauron tossed the wings aside. He took a torch that was burning on the wall and plunged it into the wounds, temporarily sealing them.
Sauron summoned an orc and said, "Don't let her pass out or loose too much blood. And don't break or remove anything. I want her to have complete use of her every faculty. I'll be back later." And with that, he walked away.
The orcs fell on her with vigor. She was beaten and pummeled relentlessly until she bled. As a means of adding insult to injury, they took the discarded wings, which had dragged uselessly on the ground so many times, and used them to thrash her. Afterward, she was slashed over her nose and mouth. The back of her shirt was torn, and she was scourged. Small, sharp pieces of metal and wood were shoved underneath her fingernails. Hot water was poured down her throat, and afterwards, a small cut was made so her throat wouldn't swell. Bits of paper doused in oil where placed between her toes and fingers and set on fire. Between torture methods, she was repeatedly beaten. She didn't make any sounds, but every blow made her grimace and tense up.
When Sauron finally came back, she was more severely battered than she had ever been in battle. She was literally covered in bruises and gashes. It was entirely likely that her ribs had been fractured or that one of her teeth had been knocked out. Both of her eyebrows and lips and been split, her eyes had been swollen shut, and there was a tear in one of her ears. Her nose bled profusely, and her saliva was lined with blood. Everything on her, from her head to her feet, dripped blood until it made a small puddle of blood and other bodily fluids where she stood.
While Sauron looked her up and down, she used her nails to make slashes on her eyelids, causing the blood to drain and the swelling to go down. Unfortunately, the blood from her lids and brows also dripped into her eyes, so it was highly unlikely that she could see anyway.
Sauron idly fiddled with his sword and studied her coldly. "It's fitting, I suppose, that you should decide to reject me as an owner; it wouldn't be the first time. And now here you are, a pitiful nothing. You were never even given a name, were you?" Letting his blade wander in front of her face, he said, "Where's your spirit now?"
She spat blood on the ground and raised her eyes to his. Hers were unreadable. Standing up straight, she brought her right hand in front of her. It hovered near the blade as though she were about to place her hand on it. Instead, she brought it to the left and used the back of her hand to slap it in the other direction. Her previously blank face suddenly made a sneer, one of utter disgust and disdain.
Whatever Sauron expected her to do, this clearly was not it. He stared at her and practically quivered. Livid didn't begin to describe his attitude. "Gudor," he said slowly. An orc approached him. Sauron said simply, "Make her bleed." The orcs looked as though they could very easily have started giggling with sadistic glee. She didn't try to escape or struggle, but she eyed some the instruments.
Before any of them could be used on her, however, another orc ran in, screaming about how the humans and the elves had found a weak spot in their wall and were trying to breach it. With so many others already out, they would all the help they could get to fight off the enemy. The orcs that held her looked at Sauron for some kind of instruction. He stood there, most put out with the timing, and struggled with what to do before ordering that she be put in a cell until they could resume. She snatched up her cloak, which way forgotten on the ground, before she was taken away.
The cells in Sauron's fortress were appalling, even for cells. The air was dank, the floors filthy, and the walls rat-infested. When she was thrown in, the moon that shown through the window was high and full, the only source of light in the cramped quarters. For a minute, she just laid there on the floor, but she eventually hauled herself up. Grimacing, she leaned back against the wall and panted. She pulled several vials from her cloak's pockets and drank the contents of one. Another she gradually emptied on her skin, rubbing it into her wounds. She took a strip of material from her shirt and several herbs from another bottle and used them to bind up her injuries.
From the smallest container came a needle made of bone. After carefully pulling several threads from her shirt, she attempted to sew up some of the more unpleasant incisions, including those on her arms and cheeks. The stitches weren't very straight, but they would probably hold. Without a doubt, the most difficult to fix was the tear in her ear. She gritted her teeth and had to feel the rip to be certain it hadn't folded over on itself and wouldn't heal that way.
By the time she had begun clearing off the floor, rain had started pouring through the window. Wincing, she slowly lay down, her ravaged, exposed back pressed against a floor that was dirty, cold, and now wet. She fell asleep that way.
How long she was there couldn't be said with a surety. It was long enough that some of her less dire wounds healed. Because there was no food, she had to make do with what she had; she would lie very still on the floor and wait for one of the bolder rats to come and nibble on her fingers before grabbing it. The rats always bit savagely, but she snapped them in half before they could cause any serious damage. She would often wake up to find them gnawing on her fingers or her wounds.
At one point, she awoke with a start due to the shaking of the ground. It was thundering outside, and as the sound grew louder, she scaled the wall to the window. Wrapping her arms around the bars, she held onto the frame and watched what happening outside. It was as though the fog was being quick sucked into one spot. Suddenly, miles away, there was a burst of light, and a shockwave threw everything back, including her.
She fell onto the ground, but immediately stood up as the building began to rumble. The room was pulled in two different directions, and the cell was soon ripped in two. The crack in the wall was as much as four feet wide. Peering through and seeing the league of dazed orcs that were slowly starting to make their way back, she clambered out of the room. Without looking back, she ran as fast as she could in one direction and shortly disappeared into the fog.