Chapter 9
Galadriel had watched her daughter carefully since her recovery. The near- inevitable loss of her daughter days after the war's completion was a stake in the proud elf-woman's heart. Idrial's body had healed rapidly, yet the agony that crept over her soul was beginning to show on the outside. Pale and weak, she easily tired. Her normally positive character was replaced with a quiet sullenness of one with no energy for the world around them, heavily reflected in her eyes. No joy did she find in things she once liked.
Her soul was dying. Galadriel, renowned for her healing, was incapable to stop it. Yet if the old rumors of the powers of the elves rang true, perhaps one could.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Thranduil slept warily, half watching the woman for any move she might make. She dozed restlessly in her chair, often waking but never fully. In the early hours of the morning she rose and tip-toed to his bedside. For a long time she simply stood there. Finally Thranduil rolled over to see what she could possibly want. He was surprised to find her mouth agape as she stared at him.
"What?" he eventually asked.
"You-you are an elf."
Thranduil nearly slapped himself, remembering their hoods that had so well disguised them the day before had been put aside for the night. Sitting up, he looked her straight in the face.
"Yes. I am an elf. Your point?"
"I thought you were one of those slaver bounty men, hired when they want rid of bad employees."
Thranduil laughed. "Honestly. They exist?"
Nodding, Venet chuckled. "Hard to imagine, I guess." Her tone changed back to confused wonder. "Why are you here?"
"To find my son."
Venet blinked. "You came all the way here, were willing to contest with slavers, and deal with me, all to find your son?" Thranduil nodded. "You love him enough to do that?" Again Thranduil nodded. "My parents… they would never have done this. They left me with the slavers when I was little. They didn't want to deal with me anymore. I have grown up in their foul company since then. But it was no always that way. Not until Father was thrown from the Guard…" she trailed into silence.
"Guard? Of which nation?"
"Gondor. I lived there for most of my early childhood. Never could I have imagined the life I lead now." She sighed. "The point is; I was brought up to be an upstanding citizen of Gondor. Something… something has reminded me of that. And I do remember an elf."
. . . . . . . . . . .
The plantation walls were tall and imposing, to the friends it looked more like a military prison than somewhere you harvested…whatever they harvested in Harad.
"You're sure this is the place?" Aragorn looked up at the unwelcoming structure. When Venet nodded, he voiced the question they all had on their mind. "How do we get in?"
"Well, that is where I come in. You see, I deliver the slaves to their owners after sales. The master of the house never comes to see a slave batch unless he is really excited about it. He was here for the elf, but he will not be out today."
"How can you be sure?"
"He has no shipments today."
"So we go in as your shipment. Whoever is manning the gates will hopefully believe you, and you take us to Legolas."
"Exactly. The gate guards never know if a shipment is coming or not. They are not told these things. They only know that when the master has ordered slaves, slaves come. They know me well, and know I work for the slavers, so they will not question me."
The four friends bunched close together, their hands clasped behind their backs beneath their cloaks. Venet walked behind them, her whole demeanor entirely changed. Cocky and confident, she smiled at the youngest guard as they walked between the impressive barbed gates. Inside the grounds were well kept. Behind laid vast fields of muddy water holes.
"Enjoying your day jobs?" she asked the men standing guard.
"More than those fellows are about to be. Are they all paid off? The master didn't leave us any money down here today."
"Why would he trust you with any?" Venet walked away, leading them toward a tiny, dark shack thrown up against the left wall of the mansion.
Inside the horridly compounded scent of blood, sweat, and dirt nearly brought the four friends to fits a gagging. The darkness was complete, but around them the air was full of shuffling and breathing. The rotting wood added constant creaking to the strange symphony.
Celeborn took from his pocket a small elf-light, not unlike the light that Galadriel had given Frodo. Pure, gentle light shot into every corner of the hovel. They discovered that they had entered a long hallway lined with small cells fenced by crude metal. Thranduil looked into each cell in horror as they walked past. Many huddled forms lay in each small enclosure, packed like animals. They had not but the thin rags on their backs, their bodies were thin and bruised. What held the Elvenking was their eyes. Hollow, they stared out, dark and desperate, fearful of the newcomers. He tried to avoid their gazes as the continued down the hall, afraid to see the emotions he might find in his son's face.
In one of the last cells they found him with two companions. He looked up, hope and relief flushing his features. The door would not budge on its hinges without the key, but could not stand long against Gimli the dwarf.
"That is some of the most pathetic metal work I have ever laid eyes on."
Legolas stood taking in his friends and the woman. It was clear he remembered her, and with little kindness.
"Venet has been a great help for us in finding you." Thranduil held his son's shoulders. "What did they do to you?"
"Work." Came the reply. Indeed. The elf's back was crossed with whip welts, some scabbing, and some bleeding still. The tips of his blonde strands were dyed faintly red. The same color entered the folds of Thranduil's robes as he helped his son from the prison.
The six stepped out into the fresh air, concealed behind the wall of the slave hovel.
"Great." Gimli paused. "How do we get out of here?"
Venet bit her lip. "I never thought of that."
"By the plantation." Legolas put in, to the surprise of the others. "Where we work the fence becomes wooden. I found a small hole in it yesterday. We can leave that way.
He led them around the back of the manor house by a small dirt path. Before them spread large muddy holes, with small dry paths between. A small basin full of murky water sat beside each dugout, along with a mesh like basket.
"Precious stones." Legolas nodded.
A high wooden fence surrounded the pits, and as Legolas had said, near the east end they found a small hole. Gimli hacked it to the point where he could push through with help from his thinner companions. They hurried along the perimeter of the wall to where their horses waited. Legolas leaned more heavily than ever on his father.
"Here, put him up behind me." Thranduil mounted.
Soon the three horses, all doubled up, stopped at the slave house on their way past the docks. Celeborn looked to where Venet sat behind him.
"You have been of the greatest assistance to us. For that we thank-you. You are free to go where you will."
She chewed her lip, looking with thoughtful disgust at the hovel, as if thinking over her past life there. Her eyes turned to Legolas, who had fallen asleep against his father's back. A cloak covered the marks across his back.
"I can't." Her whisper as nearly undetectable as she stared at the hooves of Aragorn's horse. "You cannot prove to me the error of my life, show me a new way, show me that there is love in this world, and then leave me to return to me life of deceit and loneliness. Take me back to Minas Tirith with you."
The friends smiled. It was as much as they could have hoped for. They steered their mounts out of town and along the shore, back toward the Anduin.