Author's Note: I don't own the Lord of the Rings... da dee da... Oo... I went to see RENT! Everyone go see it! It was wonderful!

Chapter 9

Who is M. of L.?

"My book--!" Eordhe cried out in a choked voice, but the elf had already taken the royally bound journal into consideration. His hand closed around its spine, and with it in one hand, pulled the woman by the front of her dress. Eordhe was lifted clean off the ground for a second, and crashed painfully back down, as Elladan's hand lowered. She stumbled and tried to get on her knees and pull down her rising skirt at the same time, and tripped again, this time stubbing her toes on a jutting rock.

Tears of humiliation and anger rose in her eyes as the elf dragged her through the bushes like a common dog. At his hands, she knew she would meet no mercy. Her feet scrabbled uselessly on the loose mountain soil as her legs endured the tiny knives on the leaves of the surrounding bushes. Scratch marks went up as high as her thighs, as friction tore at her dress.

"Let go of me!" she cried, completely forgetting who she was. "How dare you treat me like this!"

The elf made no sound, and the woman screamed again, grabbing the hand that held the front of her dress. With the expertise of his race, Elladan shook her like a rag doll, until her grip was loosened. Though she knew she would lose in this hopeless tug of war, Eordhe tried to bite him.

"Stay still," the elf commanded, "or I will make you wish you had never intruded upon this company's welcome!"

She made no sign of compliance and continued to beat the elf's arm, as he pulled her screaming and kicking figure into the middle of the travelers' camp. Her head slammed the ground, and vaguely, she realized that he was not pulling her any longer.

As soon as his brother had shown his face, scarcely a few minutes after he left, dragging the woman, Estel bolted from his bedroll. The woman hardly looked and sounded like a slave now, screaming and cursing in perfect Common, as she tried to writhe out of Elladan's firm grasp. Her hair was a wild tangle of matted straw on her head and her face was covered in dust. She was nearly as dirty as when they had first found her, but this time, much more conspicuous. Her skirt was half way up her thighs from being dragged, and Estel noticed the scratches that she had sustained from the bushes.

Cuiladan also jumped up from his bedroll, but for a completely different reason. "What is the meaning of this?" he cried, as he ran to the woman's side. "Eordhe?" He tried to help her up, but Elladan seized his hand and pulled him back, as if the woman was diseased. "What are you doing?" Cuiladan thundered, and tried to run forward again, but his brother held on.

"Dartho!" (Wait!) Elladan commanded. "Lasto nin! (Hear me!) Elrohir!" The twins exchanged a quick look, and it seemed that everything that Elladan had learned was transferred to Elrohir in that one look.

With a flick of his wrist, Elladan had tossed what looked like a leather bound book to Elrohir. The other caught it and asked, "Man i sen?" (What is this?)

"Parf tîn," (Her book) he answered, and Elrohir seemed to understand.

With the same speed as his twin, and before Estel could comprehend what was going on, Elrohir pulled Eordhe roughly to her feet and held her hands behind her back, a dagger at her throat. "Who are you?" he cried.

"NO!" Cuiladan tried to dash forward again, but Elladan's grasp was firm.

"What is this?" Ranien had joined the circle with Orophin and Gildor. Lindir, however, had chosen to watch this from his bedroll. He had known Elladan and Elrohir for long enough to know that they were usually right whenever one of them had suspicions.

The woman did not open her mouth, but Estel could see the change in her face. Whereas before, a simple, almost dull expression had pervaded her features, a dark, harsh gleam of intelligence and cunning now shone in her eyes. It was frightening to watch, as the rosy cheeks of a common slave became the crimson rouge of an experienced woman and the pouted lips of someone too simple to come to maturation became the cherries of seduction on a single-minded spy.

He noticed once again that she did not possess the elven beauty that he was so use to. However, though the simple prettiness of a country girl was gone, it was replaced by a dark and terrible beauty of a woman of politics.

Both twins ignored Ranien, and one hand still pulling Cuiladan back, Elrohir flipped open the leather-bound journal with the other. With a quick eye, he scanned the ink-filled pages and narrowed them as he came upon the blank ones.

He looked up, saw his brother, and pushed Cuiladan back so he could not interrupt the twins' accusations. Estel stood still, afraid to move—afraid to breathe—for it seemed that if he so much as twitched, the tension in the air would burst and consume them. However, as soon as Elrohir opened his mouth, Estel knew why Eordhe had been caught.

"Letters of the Tengwar," Elrohir hissed in Common as he thrust the book into the woman's face. "Letters to your lord."

Estel could not help but snap his head quickly at Cuiladan's direction. He knew he should not have, but he did because of the strange impulse pushing inside of him. A giant fist was holding down his stomach, and something inside him was churning. A wide eye glance told him all he needed to know. Just like him, Cuiladan had understood the significance of the notebook and the Tengwar.

Even in moonlight, the boy could see his brother's eyes cloud as they filled with hurt. Almost automatically, his mouth had formed an "O," silently mouthing the word of dissent.

"No…" the whisper escaped from his throat like a wisp of dying wind in an ending blizzard. Hoarse and bare, it would not have been heard if everywhere around them was dead silence.

Eordhe, or whoever she really was, showed no sign of recognizing the journal.

Again, as Elladan held her still, Elrohir scrutinized the small dark lines with blazing eyes. "A slave?" Estel could hear the mockery in his voice. "And since when did the Rohirrim teach their slaves letters? Moreover, when did the Rohirrim teach their slaves Elvish letters?"

Estel saw the woman grind her teeth together, but the expression upon her face was still blank, as dark brown tresses fell over her features, blocking her icy features. "You are no common slave," Elladan continued. "Indeed, you are not even nobility. Even the highest class of the Rohirrim have no use for the Elvish letters. Who are you, Eordhe?"

Silence.

Not even the wind blew at this dead, cold hour, as five figures stood in a circle around three others. Two were facing each other and the third was being held captive by one of them.

"You are not even of Rohan," Elladan spoke.

At this, the woman started, but was pushed back to her submissive position by the elf. Her chest heaved, as she tried to consume air through her nostrils and calm herself, but Estel saw the muscles in her jaw clench until they bulged.

"Yes, Eordhe, if that is still you name. Remember," he said, "you let your character slip when being dragged through the bushes. Your accent on the Common Tongue is clearly Gondorian. And, if I may add, southern Gondorian nobility."

Her eyes bulged, but she said nothing.

"It would explain the shorthand," Elrohir started where his brother had cut off, and handed the notebook to Ranien, who immediately began to flip through it.

She stood her ground, trying to retain what dignity she had left after being dragged until she was half dead through the shrubbery and the revealing of her true nature. Elladan and Elrohir she could deal with. No matter what, she knew, she must not betray her Master. Whatever pain and torture the elves did to her, she must endure, for she knew her Master would double anything these travelers could inflict. If they killed her, so be it.

A good spy never let on any secrets.

The hand on her arm clenched and she gasped as she felt her bone twist beneath her skin. Whatever they did to her flesh, her heart must remain stone! If that remained untouched, her spirit could not be broken, and unless they deciphered the letters in her journal, they would know nothing. All her secrets would go with her to her grave.

As long as her stone hard heart was untouched.

Elladan then maneuvered his arm in such a way that hers felt at the point of breaking. She let nothing escape her lips, but she was forced to her knees before his grip loosened. As she winced, she looked up, hoping for something to tell her this was a dream.

Instead, she saw the moonlight shining full on a face, where gray eyes gazed at her, those windows showing a hurt and betrayed soul. Each masculine feature was the very essence of sadness, but the eyes…

Eordhe felt her heart go out, flying naughtily out of her reach. The man may as well have used magic to turn her heart into butter, for it melted as she looked up at Cuiladan's heartbroken expression.

He was so beautiful, wonderful… perfect. He was the only person who had not judged her before he knew her, who had taken the time to actually understand as much of her as possible. He had not even known who she was, and he had accepted her. She knew no one else like that, and did not expect to meet many others.

Suddenly, for the first time, she felt a strange, gnawing sensation in her stomach as her intestines twisted in a nauseous, churning manner. Her heart raced and it was as if insects were crawling through her thoracic cavity, for without doubt, she felt the urge to tell everything within her brain to anyone, anyone at all who would listen.

Guilt.

She squirmed under Elladan's captivity, trying to release some of this tension physically, but cried out unintentionally as she received a blow on the back. She struggled, but her heart—and conscience—was too strong to repress.

Before she knew it, her mouth had opened, and she voiced the most crucial information a spy could ever reveal about herself.

"My name is Morwen of Lossarnach."

TBC...

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