Chapter 7
The alley was dark, so dark it was impossible for any but the most trained eye to see the cloaked figure that walked through the blindness. It slipped into a darkened door, the faint candlelight barely able to push back the night.
"Jehethra." A small man sat behind an aging wooden desk at the back wall of the room. He was young, looking no older than his mid-twenties. No one knew enough about him to guess at his true age. Few knew his true name. To most he was the Underlord, the head of the black market crime ring of Minas Tirith. "I hope you have something worth my time."
Jehethra tore her gaze from the jars with unidentifiable contents that lined the walls. Ignoring the presence of the bounty hunters and guards that mingled in the next room, she flashed the Underlord a cocky smile, confident in her product. "Yes, Drake, in fact I do."
"Please." The smile he returned sent shudders through her. "Despite the…intimacy of our previous relations, my title holds and I hope you have the sense to use it from this point on." His voice was sickly sweet, yet the underlying threat was certainly not missed on the gypsy.
"Yes, Underlord." She stood quiet as the Underlord waved a hand, and a guard stepped from the shadows and closed the door to the common room, disappearing behind it. The Underlord turned back to her.
"What do you have?"
The confident smile returned to her face. "Elf blood."
She did not miss his face change to hungry want. Clients would pay up for this, and he knew it. "Good indeed." True appreciation could be detected in his voice. "Elf blood is difficult to harvest." He took the vials from her white hands. "Is it noble blood?"
"The daughter of Lady Galadriel provided that, Underlord."
"Well done, Jehethra. I am impressed, I must confess. It looks like you can go back to the field, and no longer need my bed to keep you under my employment."
The gypsy blushed. That had indeed been her reasons for accepting his invitation. He swirled the blood, examining it carefully.
"How many vials have you?"
"Five." She produced them from her small bag.
"Excellent. Your payment will be fair." His manner made it clear the deal was over.
"If I may be so bold, I demand generous compensation for that, Underlord."
He turned back, eyeing her with surprise. His whole demeanor told her she was close to overstepping the boundary; close to deadly consequences.
"For the trouble she has, and is, causing me." She clarified.
"Oh, was she vicious?" His voice dripped with mocking.
"No." Now he was purely aggravating her. "But her friends are on my trail. I have to get on the move."
"So I cannot expect more?"
"She bleeds even now. I can have more for you in the early morning."
"You shall receive your payment then."
Jehethra worried about complications, but fear slowly moved her steps back. Lifting her hood, she melted into the darkness of the street.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The cart was nearly loaded. Every little trinket was stored in its proper place. The slave started dismantling the material tent as Jehethra went swiftly to deliver two more full vials to the Underlord. Her pay was more than she had led herself to believe, but less that the blood was truly worth. Once she returned, she carefully detached the she-elf from the blood tubes, binding rough cloth about the cuts quickly. With measured use of the drugs, she had kept the she-elf completely immobile and unresponsive. She had proved easy to care for. Managing her had become easier as she had weakened from blood loss.
Ordering the slave to take care of the remaining tent, she quickly checked to make sure none of the king's men or any of the elves were about, and then hurried the unconscious elf to her cart. A small cubby-like bunk was built into the wall. More commonly the slave lived in it, but today he would have to content himself with the floor. She slid the she-elf into the tiny space. The slave scrambled up behind her, taking the last of the tent into the cart with him, where he huddled on the floor. He looked up at the she-elf with fearful wonder, as he had since the gypsy had obtained her.
"Do not touch her." Jehethra closed the cart with a smile. Once they were safely away from the city she could get the elf back providing again. Her life was slipping, but she would be useful a little while longer.
She stepped up into the driver's seat, ready to make her escape.
A hard, cold blade pressed into her neck, the deadly point digging into her flesh.
"The reins. Drop them."
The voice was hard and commanding. Barely contained rage seemed to hide just under the she-elf's words. Jehethra let the reins drop. She turned her head slightly. Never before had such intense anger met her before. The icy fire that burned in the Lady Galadriel's eyes seemed to seep into the gypsy's veins, freezing her in place.
"Do not move." The unnecessary command was harsh. The Lady did not lower her blade as she moved to dismount the cart. "Faramir, come. Deal with her." A Gondorian Ranger Jehethra recognized from the welcome banquet came and bound her. The Lady, along with the King's she-elf and the Rohan woman moved to the back of the cart.
As soon as she forced open the door, a dirty boy, thin as a rail through his ragged clothing, threw himself down at their feet, tumbling out of the cart in his fear.
"Please, have mercy! I am but a slave!" Even as he pleaded for his life his voice was small.
Galadriel smiled at him with pity. "Tell me, child. Where is the she-elf your mistress had in her keeping?"
The boy moved to a small bunk jutting out from the wall. Galadriel had first thought it was for storage. The boy lifted the dirty cloak to reveal the occupant.
"Oh, Idrial."
Handing the slave to Eowyn behind her, she stepped into the tent and lifted her daughter into her arms.
"Arwen, Arwen, come here. Help me with her." Galadriel's voice betrayed her fear.
Arwen could see why. Her aunt was deathly pale, rough and bloody cloth bound about several points on her arms and side. She was limp, a dead weight in her mother's arms, unresponsive to all that was taking place around her.
"She's barely breathing. She's starting to give herself up." Galadriel turned to Eowyn and the slave. "Bring him."
When they had settled Idrial comfortably in her own bed, Galadriel turned to the boy. "Did your mistress give her anything? I hope this weakness is not only from blood loss."
"Yes, it is a drug of her own making. She has no name for it, and I know none of the ingredients, but it keeps elves unconscious for sometimes twenty hours."
"Once she wakes up, we will place her in a healing trance to remove the traces. Thank-you, boy. Eowyn, take him back up to the city with you. Find somewhere for him to stay."
The Shield maiden and her husband left the elf-tent. Arwen remained with her grandmother. The two watched over Idrial for many hours.
"This stuff really does work for twenty hours." Arwen joked as she bound a fresh soft cloth about her aunt's arm.
"Tell me about it. But you can see she is starting to come around."
Both caretakers breathed a sigh of relief as Idrial slowly opened her eyes. Automatically she stiffened, her eyes wild with fear.
"Idrial, you're safe." Galadriel took her daughters hand.
Idrial turned her head. "Mother."
"Do you feel alright?" Arwen asked.
Her aunt's voice was a whisper. "Do you know what they did to me?"
Galadriel gently squeezed the hand she held. "Idrial…"
"DO YOU!? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID TO ME!?"
"Idrial, calm down." Galadriel smoothed her daughter's hair. "We will catch whoever the blood was taken to. You need to stay quiet until we can set you into a healing trance."
Yet she could not be reasoned with. Hyperventilating, she tried a few desperate words, as if unsure how to form her thoughts. Her eyes were still wild; she clearly believed they were missing something.
"They RAPED me! Right there in the field, both of them. Then they took him from me, to sell him to some man named Yulhan…" She trailed off into tears.
Galadriel stared for a moment, too shocked to speak. She had not known this. She saw similar shock on her granddaughter's face. Leaning down, she wrapped her daughter in a close hug. "Your father has gone with Thranduil and others to find him. They will bring him back. It will come together."
Idrial's body relaxed as her mother placed her under the trance. Galadriel turned to Arwen.
"Stay with her for a moment. I must speak to the others."