Sha'abla
It was not his fault that the elf almost died. He had never owned one before. He was used to dealing with men, women, and children, all of whom he had broken with ease. This creature neither begged nor cried, but sat every day motionless and silent while he ate and drank in front of it. He surmised mistakenly that the elf did not need sustenance at all, for he showed no interest in the delicious meals that Ak'tun deliberately displayed. Ak'tun asked the elf many questions, but they all went unanswered and one day frustration caused him to take a whip to the stubborn creature, but the elf curled into himself and took the beating with the merest of whimpers.
In disgust Ak'tun tossed the bloody whip aside and had left him alone for several days untended. But not even this distress or prolonged silence seemed to break the elf's fortitude. Ak'tun had to wonder at the creature's will. He longed to possess him, to know his every thought and desire, to know his weaknesses, to bring him from the proud being that he was to the lowest grovelling animal, willing to do anything and everything to please his master. But as days passed Ak'tun began to think that this would never be. Would he have to kill him after all?
The only thing that Ak'tun did not do was deprive the elf of water, for this seemed to be the only form of food it would take. The desert man left a bowl of water on the floor every night and every morning the bowl would be empty. This went on for quite some time.
But there came a morning that upon entering the tent he found the bowl full and the elf supine on the floor. The creature was shaking, trembling, its eyes half closed. Ak'tun at first was suspicious, but the elf was muttering, mumbling in such a delirious way that Ak'tun was suddenly afraid. He knelt at the elf's side but could not understand a word that he uttered. At last Ak'tun touched his forehead and found that the elf's skin was cold, cold as his father's had been when he took his last breath. Worried now Ak'tun took from his waist the key for the manacles. The elf's arms which were bloodied and bruised flopped lifelessly to his side. Ak'tun sat the elf upright.
"AH'MED, AH'MED," he called.
The old servant came hobbling through the heavy curtains. "My Lord..." he said.
"Fetch gruel quickly, quickly Ah'med."
The old man scurried for the urgency in his master's voice propelled him.
The penetrating scent of something delicious penetrated his delirium, Elladan groaned, yearning for the taste of it, needing the feel of it in his belly and knowing that it was not to be... and yet there was something at his lips, a wetness that tasted of meat and something more and then it was there in his mouth. He swallowed voraciously, blindly suckling on the fingers that fed him. So great was his hunger, that he sobbed even as he ate. He whimpered when pain flared from his too long empty stomach, but the pain from the rest of his body was far worse and he continued swallowing the thin gruel as though it was the finest meal in all of Arda.
Triumphant Ak'tun patiently fed the elf who groaned and tossed in pain as he ate in fits and starts. Through a foolish lack of knowledge he had come close to losing his precious prize. He would have to be very very careful in future. Ak'tun adored beautiful things and he collected them with a passion that bordered on obsession and this elf he considered to be his greatest find so far. But it seemed that the creature though hardy was more delicate that he had thought.
"Ah'med," he said softly to his servant when the elf had passed into a kind of sleep. "Wash him and have him moved to the bed."
"As you wish my lord." replied Ah'med though inside he groaned for the fate of the elf. To treat a fellow being in such a way! King Arjun would never have allowed it! But Arjun was dead, ten years dead and his son ruled the kingdom with a fist of iron.
0
The warm water cosseted his weary body and made him relax as he could not do when fully awake. There was a faint but pleasant humming somewhere nearby. Though he did not recognise the melody, the rhythm of it carried him back to the time when his mother would sing him to sleep as she stroked the hair at his temple. She would smile at him as she sang. He remembered the lilt of her voice and the way weight of his brother would be a warm bundle at his back, already asleep.
"Naneth," he whispered, his fingers grasping at the arm that held him.
Though Ah'med did not understand the elven tongue, he knew that the youth had called out to his mother.
"Sleep child, for the morrow will be worse than today." he said in his own tongue.
Then he continued to hum the lullaby that he had sung to Ak'tun, when he had been but a babe.
000
A stinging slap to the face brought him out of his stupor. Gasping, Elrohir flew upright. His tormentor, whom he could barely see in the half shadowy light was a burly shaggy, smelly type of animal. Exactly what type Elrohir could not tell, but the beast pointed to a broken bowl on the floor with one ragged paw. Elrohir looked and saw a piece of pottery filled with some mushy, brown congealing mess. His stomach revolted but he clapped a hand to his mouth to stem the compulsion. Again the animal slapped him hard.
It grunted at him, indicating once more the jagged bowl. Elrohir reached out and took up the distasteful looking slush. Raising it, he sniffed at it. Surprisingly it smelt rather good. Being hungry for the first time in a long while, he scooped a fingerful into his mouth. The taste of honey surprised him and he hurriedly ate the rest. He licked the bottom of the bowl until it was quite clean. All the while the animal observed him. Elrohir had got quite used to it doing this. It had given him water for three days until he was able to sit up and drink from the skin himself. It had also pushed raw meat and then insects at him, but Elrohir could not bring himself to touch any of it.
Every day the animal would disappear for hours on end leaving the elf in the hot dark hole out of which he could not get, for there appeared to be no door or window, even though the animal clearly got in and out with no trouble. At first Elrohir had panicked, but the beast returned faithfully every day. At first he had tried speaking to it, but the beast had growled at him and cuffed him soundly on the head. Silence then. The thing slept for many hours at a time and so would Elrohir, for he felt very tired and very sore and there was not much else to do in this underground chamber but sleep and heal, besides the beast clearly had no intention of letting him go. He had even got used to the stench after a few days...
00
The fire that they had built was for Aragorn's sake, for the nights were cold in the desert, but the dunadan felt no comfort from its flickering flames. Two towns had they visited and none of them yielded any hint as to the whereabouts of his brothers. No one remembered any elves among the slaves recently sold, that, they had said was a sight never seen in these distant lands.
Aragorn looked up into the clear sky. Seeing the stars shining so brightly, he remembered how Elrohir would tell him the names of them all, over and over again on those nights when they would sit in the garden when he was just a little boy.