Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien, the only people I own are Alenor Talagand, Bréil, Sebastian and Victoria.
REVISED and EDITED Fate's Paths-Chap9-Duplicity-
Alenor didn't want to awaken, some fogged part of her mind warned her against that action. It warned her that to awaken was to awaken the dormant but ever close agony, uneasiness, suffering and loneliness. At last however, her mind rebelled against itself and against her will she drifted, coming back to herelf in disjointed bits that filled in the puzzle jaggedly, that There left gaping holes but she didn't have the energy or the will to force the riddle together.
From the distant drip of echoing water Alenor knew immediately that she was back in her cell. Trembling she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to open them. It took less effort to not remember every torment she had been through. Perhaps if she could will it she would find herself in a place of peace and joy. A place where she could hold fast to the sanity that was swiftly fading into a distant incomprehensible dream.
Her mind had begun to drift, slipping from awakening back into unconsciousness. The borders of both joined so seamlessly she couldn't tell the difference between them. It was that state that caused her notice the voices later then she normally would have. She had only just managed to pull herself together in semblance of nonchalance when the cell door opened. The metal sound of the hinges screeched painfully on her ears, nearly shattering the illusion.
Slowly she opened her eyes. A man was making his way towards her. He was wearing a black cloak that was pulled low over his face, concealing his features in a haze of shadow. It swished gently in the wake of his proud, confident steps that somehow did not border anywhere near arrogance. He moved with a grace that would have made the Elves green with envy.
A wild terror seized her forcing her breathing into a pattern of irregular gulps of terror. Illusion shattering, she looked at him terrified. "Please!" she begged. Tears of fright rolled down her face, as her body shook uncontrollably. She was forced to try and forget the aggravation it caused her many grievous hurts. It didn't work. "I swear don't know anything. Please don't hurt me. I beg you." she sobbed, not even sure what she was saying.
The man continued to ignore her as he crouched down. Pushing his cloak away from his side, he unhooked a water flask, hanging from his belt. "Easy," he murmured, reaching out to her slowly. "Let me help."
Alenor flinched back, her body shuddered with pain of shifting her weight back. "Don't hurt me," she begged, there was no indication of sanity in her voiced. The fright had taken total control of her.
In response the man gently brushed her forehead with his fingers, speaking in a soothing tone. Alenor could not understand what he spoke, but knew that the language he spoke was not the Black Tongue. As if a small sensible part of her mind had understood the meaning of his words, the fearful tension eased away like the sluggish but ever-moving current of a river. The terror began to leave her eyes as well, making them appear almost normal.
Tentatively and with care the stranger reached out, easing an arm around her upper shoulders so he could help her into a half-sitting posture. Alenor's teeth clamped down upon her shredded lower lip, struggling not to scream in pain.
"Shh…I know it hurts," the stranger said compassionately. His voice was gentle, yet there was an undertone that was deep and resonating. "Drink this, if you can manage it." With some difficulty, as his arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, he pulled the stopper off the flask. With care he pressed the opened flask and pressed it against Alenor's lips. Noticing that instinctively her arm tried to come up to grab it, he shifted his position so that it was squished against her side. She winced in pain.
The water felt like a taste of Vainor as it slid down her parched throat. Alenor let her eyes close, feeling it sooth away the scratchy roughness of dehydration. She felt the weakness spreading through her body, and knew that she couldn't fend for herself. Every instinct screamed at her not to trust the man that knelt there and so caringly aided her.
Making a feeble gesture with her hand, Alenor turned her head to the side. Some of the precious water splashed down onto her grimy and bloodstained shirt. She flinched. Even the soft impact of the water through the cloth hurt.
"Close your eyes," the stranger whispered. "Everything will be fine soon. You'll be safe."
Forcing her eyes to remain open, Alenor gazed at him questioningly "How?" she whispered, her eyelids were unwillingly drooping downward. "I hurt..."
Her words trailed off with the explosion of the cell door slamming open. Hurriedly, the stranger shot to his feet, dropping Alenor wordlessly. Biting back a scream, she closed her eyes, as lances of pain fired through her head, making her feel nauseated and frightened.
"What are ya doing here?"
It was the Orc Captain. Alenor's eyes snapped open. He was standing in the door. One of his cohorts hovered behind, afraid in the looming shadow of his overseer.
"I was planning on interrogating the prisoner for a few answers. I had to make sure that she could scream before I continued."
"Well go on then!" The Orc made a rude gesture with his hand. A malicious grin spread across his face, showing off yellow and uneven teeth. "Let's hear 'er scream."
Alenor screamed before his foot touched her. The change in the stranger's eyes when he turned to look at her was terrifying. They were devoid, emotionless, haunting. They showed that they did not care if she was hurt, did not care if her mind collapsed under the burden of torture.
"What is your name?" he demanded, his voice ice.
It felt as if a winter snowstorm was driving against her skin. His voice was so cold. Alenor struggled to back away from him and his feet. Terror surged over her, giving her a false strength. But she did not get far before his foot connected with the broken leg. Screaming she fell backward, unable to hold herself up. "Please," she begged, trying to draw herself in a fetal ball. "Please, don't hurt me."
"What is your name? What is your heritage?" the stranger snapped, impatient. "Tell me!"
"I don't know, I don't know. I don't know, please," Alenor babbled, hardly registering the fact that she was causing herself more pain from the way she was laying.
The stranger looked down at her as if he would try again, then made a strangled noise in his throat and turned back to the Orc Captain that was looking decidedly pleased with the screams. "She's not saying anything. We'll save this until later."
Glaring, but somehow understanding that the stranger was right, the Orc turned smartly and strode away. The stranger paused for a moment then left to, without a final glance over his shoulder.
Left alone, Alenor's sobs finally diminished as the pain came back to the forefront. Her mind not able to cope with it dragged her down in the bottomless pit that was devoid of everything. Her mind drifting away slowly, Alenor realized that it was becoming harder to leave the sanctuary that saved her from pain and fear. The thought did not scare her, as it should have.
Bréil paused for a brief moment outside the girl's cell. Checking to make sure he was alone, he rested his hand gently against the door and pushed it open. For once the door did not make a screeching protest, and whispering his thanks to its silent coldness, Bréil slipped back into the cell. He would not leave the girl alone, when he knew the fever that raged through her body was furthering weakening her crumbling defenses.
The sooner I get her out of here and to my Mistress and people with the skill of Healing, she will be recover. How her...No, I can not think that! Sauron and the Witchking will be overjoyed with it. Bréil contented himself with the thought, kneeling at the girl's side.
He wished he could remember her name, but at the time he had been given it, there had been no reason to remember it. There still was no reason, but to know one's name was to have power over them, and Bréil knew that at this crucial moment in her life that power would be best in his hands
The girl did not stir, when Bréil touched her shoulder. Shifting in concern he brushed his hands down her body checking the wounds. He felt his breath come in a series of frightened short bursts. Her fever had shot dangerously upward, and the lacerations that covered her body were beginning to flame; a pre-warning to infection. He could wait no longer.
Bréil leaned back on his heels staring up at the ceiling. Placing the length of his hand in front of his eyes, he saluted smartly, brining the hand back in a fist to slam over his heart. He had made his decision. He had to take her back to his Master tonight. Whether the Orcs and his Master liked it or not, he was going to. He had no choice, he even feared to leave the girl's side lest she fade away before he could give her a touch of Healing. Even though she was just a tool, she was a very important one.