The Kingdom of Ak'tun
He woke to a strange sensation. It was pleasurable yet painful. Something soft pressed into his face, belly and thighs, creating a cradle of comfort for his body, yet his arms hurt so badly that the pain forced him into consciousness. Elladan opened his eyes. He lay on the ground on his side, a ground that was strewn with rich rugs and carpets, silk cloths and pillows. At first he could see only the hairs of the rugs that he lay on, but by raising his head he saw that he was in a large and beautifully cool tent that was decorated with sheer silken curtains and colourful damasks. He tried to get up then and realised that his arms were bound tightly behind him. He gently tested his bonds but it caused such pain that he gasped aloud. The manacles were made of iron and went from wrist to elbow, it in turn was attached by a long chain to an iron ring buried in the ground. A soft laugh from somewhere behind caused him to start. He turned swiftly ignoring the stab of pain that shot up his arms.
"You are awake my beauty." said Ak'tun watching as the elf tensed. He sensed that the creature was measuring him in the dim light of the tent. Ak'tun smiled, relaxing he poured himself a cup of wine from the carafe at his side. He saw the elf swallow involuntarily as he took a sip. Of course the creature was thirsty, he had been given meagre sips of water since his capture and no food at all. It was of course deliberate, for Ak'tun was well versed in the taming of wild things. The elf lowered his eyes to the floor as Ak'tun took another sip.
"Thirsty?" questioned the man.
There was no reply. Ak'tun briefly wondered if the elf spoke the language of men, but then he remembered that the elf had ridden with men. Stubborn then.
"I do not blame your caution, but you must understand that your old life is over. You belong to me now and you will learn to obey me d'ialla."
Elladan's head went up at the man's words, his heart burned with fury. Still he keep silent letting his eyes speak for him. The man approached him slowly. Elladan did not flinch, not even when the man stooped in front of him. Elladan could see the colour of his eyes, they were the dark green of the forests. His skin was a creamy brown and his features were noble like those of the dunedain of the western lands. Yet Elladan knew that evil lurked in his heart, horrible were the tales told of he and his men, for they not only raided the border towns, but killed wantonly as well, even children and babes in arms fell to their blades.
"What is your name?" the man asked softly. His voice flowed like soft silk to Elladan's ear, but Elladan did not answer. The man reached up a hand to caress his cheek, but he instinctively pulled back.
Anger filled Ak'tun and he slapped the elf hard, a vicious, open handed slap that rang loudly in the silence. The elf fell sideways onto the floor a sound of pain escaping him.
"Ah, so you do have a voice." hissed the desert man. "You will learn my, sha'abla. You will learn. When thirst and hunger become too much for you to bear, you will learn."
Alone in the dimness of the tent Elladan began to sob, quietly at first, his face buried in the rich fur, then louder as pain and weakness brought him low. He was hungry, so hungry that he was twisted up in painful knots inside, so thirsty that his throat burned with the desire for drink. He could smell the sweet scent of the wine, that still stood on the low table. It called to him, it made him tremble with need, but he could no more get up than he could stop his tears.
He cried for the loss of his brother, for he had seen him fall, a stunned look on his face a blade in his side. He cried for his father, for he would forever lament the loss of his sons. He cried for Aragorn, for he knew the headstrong young man would forsake his destiny in every attempt to avenge their death. And his sister, his dear sister he cried for her, for in the end she would be left alone, bereft of love and light. He cried in misery until he was spent, until his body had no more tears to give. Then he slipped into an exhausted sleep, a sleep haunted by nightmare shadows and pain.
Ak'tun approached the elf cautiously, but he was not feigning sleep. He knelt next to him taking in the length of his body and the fine tone of his legs and arms. The elf's hair which was waist long had spilled everywhere. It was thick and rich brown in colour. Ak'tun gathered the heavy weight of it in his hands and tucked it away. The elf's face was beautiful. Strong without being severe and so youthful, hairless. Ak'tun traced the tracks of his dried tears with one finger. And to think he had considered selling this creature. No, he was priceless, a treasure to be kept forever. He had always heard tales of the legendary strength and beauty of elves, but had scoffed at such stories, for in the desert, life was harsh and practical. But now, now he eagerly recalled every minute detail he had ever heard. He traced the contour of the creature's hip with his fingers.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
Water, it filled his mouth with its sweet taste before he was fully conscious. He gulped and spluttered trying to swallow and wake up at the same time. A horrid stench washed over him and he gagged, causing the water spill over his face. Something had a hold of him in the darkness, something that was covered with fur and smelled like rotted flesh. Elrohir tried to pull away but the thing growled and secured its grip on him. Water hit his face again and Elrohir swallowed ignoring the stench for he was thirsty.
The village for it could not be called a town had been put together with sticks and stone. The people, who looked mostly starved and wore threadbare garments hustled nervously out of the strangers way, for only hard men visited this place. It was a slaving post, a trading post, a place where anything could be bought and sold. Aragorn and Veren dismounted outside the only tavern. The other elves stayed on their horses, they would keep watch for in such a place anything could happen. Aragorn pushed the battered wooden door open and they entered. The place was mostly empty and smelled of stale drink and sweat. They walked over to the bar and occupied two stools.
"Hot day." Aragorn commented.
The tavern keeper eyed him warily. "Aye," he agreed cautiously.
"Ale, if you have it." Aragorn said.
"For ye both?" asked the keeper shooting a nervous glance at the elf.
"Yes," replied Veren, his voice deep and calm.
The old tavern keeper nodded and turned to fill two mugs to the brim.
"Two bits m'lords." he stuttered putting the foaming drinks in front of them.
Aragorn placed a silver coin on the counter. The keeper's eyes bulged. He wrung the dirty cloth in his hands nervously.
"How can I help ye sirs?" he asked.
"Slaves," said Aragorn bluntly, "we know they are sold here, we are interested in purchasing."
"Aye yes t'is so, but ye are too late sir, won't be no more for the season now that the storms have started. No more till the months of snows." said the old fellow shaking his head, he stared at the coin wistfully.
"We have travelled a long way my friend, surely you know of some place, someone..." said Veren. He placed another silver coin on the counter.
The tavern keeper swallowed. This was more money than he had seen in his lifetime, he found himself nodding vigorously. Slaves, yes, there were two places.