The Last Day
"Help me, you must help me." Elladan said softly as Ah'med wound the bandages around his injured wrists. But Ah'med did not answer, nor did he raise his head. He pointedly concentrated on wrapping the swollen flesh beneath his fingers. Around and around wound the soft cloth.
"Would you have me become one of them?" Elladan stated, indicating with a slight thrust of his chin the servants that slid about them silently as they went about their various duties. They were all young men and they were badly maimed for the most part. Some lacked pieces of their limbs; others bore nasty scars from whippings and other punishment. There was one who was blind, his eyes having been damaged from repeated beatings. They all bore the brand of Ak'tun on their left shoulder. It was a cruel mark, a falcon in full flight, branded deep into the skin.
Ah'med's hands slowed, he did not need to look around to acknowledge what Elladan had said. He had been the one to tend to all their wounds, to comfort then as they cried, some for their mothers, some for death. Yet he could not look into the eyes of the elf. As he continued to fuss with the bandages Elladan curved his fingers around Ah'med's gnarled ones. Ah'med froze, he stared as though in fright at the long, slender digits that encompassed his own. Against his will Ah'med gaze was drawn upward. There was such pain in those hazel eyes that Ah'med's breath caught in his throat. But he could not disobey his lord. He could not go against his King's wishes. All his life he had catered to Ak'tun's every whim, how could he change now…
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Ashamed and angry with himself, Ak'tun stayed away from the elf for nine days. Instead he haunted the corridors, hiding behind the damask silks that hung from the ceiling. He peered out at the elf as Ah'med tended to him. He did not hear any of Elladan's words nor did he see the look that passed between them. But he knew that he hated watching Ah'med with the elf. He longed to be the one soothing his broken hands, murmuring comforting words.
'But how could you when you caused the pain yourself.'
Ak'tun growled impatiently at this errant thought. It was the elf who caused him to become angry, with his stubborn will and proud look.
Ak'tun peered through the slight space between the drapes. His breathing quickened as he watched the elf toss his head. The creature's hair seemed to move as though alive, it undulated, flicked against his shoulder and then settled against the bare skin of his back. Ak'tun could almost feel the weight of it in his hands. His exhaled breath was loud enough to reach Elladan's ear. Elladan went unnaturally still listening to Ak'tun breathe. But it seemed the desert man had sensed his awareness, for soon enough Elladan heard his footsteps stealthily receding.
With a soft sigh of relief Elladan relaxed. It was quiet, for the servants had withdrawn and even Ah'med had gone. He made fists of his hands then unclenched his fingers. There was little pain from his wrists. Nearly healed. Almost absently he reached up and touched the collar around his neck, his eyes seemingly lost in thought. Looking at him one would have thought him chastened, more inclined to quick obedience now. But there was a cold anger burning in Elladan that one could not see, an anger that demanded the spilling of blood and the heat of revenge. Slowly his hazel eyes lost their introspective glaze, he turned and looked towards the doorway.
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There was the heat of fever burning in Aragorn's eyes, yet he sat his mount steadily. The thief stole many glances at him as they rode across the desert, for as the only human among the elves, he had thought that the young man would make a pleasant companion. But he was even quieter and in some ways stranger than they. He never seemed to grow tired or feel hunger. Neither did he speak the language of men, but spoke in the elves strange, musical tongue. A sudden piercing look from the object of his interest made the thief drop his gaze. This was turning out to be a most uncomfortable journey.
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Even the air was hot, and the hide was itchy and heavy on his back. Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine. His eyes were permanently squinted against the glare of the sun. Now he shaded his eyes a little as they stopped and he carefully scanned the plains. Heat shimmered up from the surface of the desert floor on the horizon. He could see little puffs of sand and grit hop and skip along as the wind rose and died. But that was all, no animal or person moved across the plains. His mouth was dry and his belly empty, but he knew that there was an oasis of life just beyond his vision.
Tariq was a warm and solid mass between his legs. Her fur was rough and matted and stank, but his fingers were effectively intertwined in it. What had transpired between them, no one would know, not for a long count of years, but words had been exchanged and communication effected. They moved as one animal now, an animal with a single purpose.
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Aragorn felt they were out of time. During his days of fevered slumber, it seemed to him that Elladan came to him. But how changed he appeared, so pale he seemed and broken. His eyes shone with pain so deep that it hurt to look at him. Gone was the stern and steadfast brother that he had always known. This was but his shadow and it was fading fast. The last time he had appeared he gave something to Aragorn. It was a plain band forged of silver, "What is this?" Aragorn had asked turning it over in his hands. But Elladan had placed a pale hand over his, stilling the movement. Puzled Aragorn had looked up to see a sad smile touch his brother's lips.
"It is something to remember me by." Elladan said and with that he had gone and no more did he haunt Aragorn's dreams.
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Ah'med carefully set the table for his lord's evening meal. Ak'tun was silent and introspective and for this Ah'med was glad because his heart was in turmoil. Everywhere he turned he would see the eyes of the elf. Though he felt his pain and sorrow, how could he betray his master? Not only was disobedience going against the very fibre of his being, but he had witnessed the mercurial temper of Ak'tun. The king demanded loyalty always, to betray him in the slightest thing meant certain death. Ak'tun would cut him down without a hint of mercy, should he attempt to free the elf.
'And is that any sort of life to cherish, old man?'
The question stung, and quickly he buried it deep in his mind without giving an answer. No, he would not disobey his master.
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There was muted light in the room. The window were heavily draped. The air was warm and moist. A heavy silence lay over everything. How many days had gone? How many lifetimes. He had almost forgotten the feel of the wind on his skin, the smell of it when it rained, the touch of it in a storm. Would he ever see the stars in the blueness of night when all was a joyful music of sound and dance and freedom. This was not life, at least not for him, there was nothing left to live for anyway, no one to share it with. What he had become was unnamable, nothing more than a thing possessed. With a silent cry he closed his eyes and his head drooped onto his breast…