Chapter 10
One Good Reason
"Gondorian nobility," Cuiladan echoed hollowly after Elladan. "Gondorian nobility." He repeated the two words as if they were incredulous and there was no way he could believe them. In a way, he could not. He was the heir to the throne of Gondor. Things could not be more perfect… or imperfect…
"It clearly explains her higher education and this… ingenious shorthand," Elrohir said, weighing the indecipherable notebook in one hand. He had resumed his confident air of sarcasm after they had tied up Eordhe/Morwen and gagged her. Ranien seemed particularly good at this, though Estel did not want to ask why. Now all that remained to be done was to decide what to do with the treacherous woman.
"Which makes her even more dangerous," Gildor put in Sindarin, reminding the others that she could understand the Common Tongue. The eight of them were standing a little apart from their camp in a small circle. "I still feel she is not telling the whole truth."
Morwen sat with her back to them, at the center of the camp, the elven ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles. Her back was becoming cramped as were hand and feet were connected with another piece of rope. The struggle had left her breathless and choking on the piece of cloth in her mouth, still bookless and answerless. Still, she tried to listen with all her might.
She knew that the elves did not believe her story and she cursed herself again and again for being stupid and clumsy with her secrets. The plague on Cuiladan! she mentally damned him. Ho was it that one look from him had made her let go of her only lifeline in all of this turmoil? They knew her name!
She had looked away after spilling this, but she could not stop speaking, and she knew she could not lie, for she had learned before that elves could see straight through and outright fib. Morwen had tried to weave her way around it, only giving parts of information that was completely necessary for her story to seem whole. Even now, she knew that the elves were itching to get more out of her, and she was not excited about what they would do to her to get the real story.
She shifted silently to ease her aching legs, but only succeeded in getting a sharp pain to shoot through her left knee.
Grimacing, she tasted bile, but had to swallow the bitter liquid because of the gag. Nausea quickly ensued, and she stopped her ears to the elves' conversation. The little Sindarin she knew did not help her anyway. Her stomach lurched as her mouth filled with the taste of acid, and the world seemed to spin around her already fuzzy mind. Letting out an inaudible groan, she closed her eyes, hoping to avoid the oncoming headache.
She did not open them until a hand jerked back her head with a firm grip on her hair. It was skillfully entwined in the masses of black curls so that she could not move if she wanted. Crying out, she nearly choked on her gag, and her tied hands could not massage her aching neck. A thin line of icy metal touched her carotid, and instantly, she froze as if struck dumb.
"Give me one good reason why we should not just slit your throat right now," Ranien's usually soft voice was covered in daggers next to her ear. She thought he heard a sudden intake of breath from Cuiladan's direction, but she could have imagined it. Still, her heart clenched again, and she once more cursed herself for being such an easy woman.
Another elf removed the cloth from her mouth, and Morwen was mortified as her dry tongue lolled lazily, letting saliva and stomach acid drip from the corners of her mouth, past her cheek, and down her neck onto the long knife. Her throat was dry and she still tasted the bitterness of defeat and bile. Estel made a disgusted noise behind his lips, and she heard his boots grind into the earth. For having been raised by elves, the boy knew nothing of subtleness.
That would be his undoing, she promised herself. She had no ideas how she could possibly love one brother and hate the others so much. NO! she cried to herself. It was not love. It was a passing infatuation. That was all. She only loved her lord.
"Speak!" Elladan commanded, and Morwen realized the elves had come to a conclusion and had surrounded her.
She frantically searched her mind for a decent answer, but she found it difficult to concentrate with a knife pressing against her lifeline and a circle of her enemies around her. I cannot die, she stated firmly to herself. If I do, this will have all been in vain. The Valar will damn me eternally anyway. I must try to live a little longer.
Her Master needed her alive. So she took the wildest chance of her life.
"I…" her voice sounded as if she had drank a cup of nails. "I… know the safest way to Dol Guldur!"
Silence.
Morwen's heart pounded in her ribcage, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. It was a miracle her throat had not yet sustained any wounds. Secretly, praying to whatever Vala would listen to her after all her misdeeds, she hoped that she had said the right thing.
Her Master had only guessed that the twins would enter Mirkwood, though she had never heard them mention the place, but they were heading in that direction and she knew that Elrond was more than a little interested in that area. Like the wizards, he knew what that her Master was rising again.
She thought she had struck gold after the long silence, but suddenly, the knife was pressed even more painfully into her neck. She gasped as it nicked her skin and she felt a warm droplet of life fall down her neck, into her dress, and roll between the curves of her breasts.
"Why do you think we wish to go to Dol Guldur?" Ranien asked, his voice so apathetic that Morwen could not tell whether she had guessed right or made a mortal mistake.
The tiny cut unnerved her, and slightly frantic, she cried out, "You are heading in that direction! I… I thought—"
"Liar," Elrohir's sarcastic tone was unmistakable. It was almost wore that Elladan's assertiveness that made him almost seem like a god. For a second, Morwen was afraid she was in for her death, but Ranien lowered the pressure of the blade against her neck one notch. Her spine still hurt, as she was staring at the sky, with her head pulled all the way back. "No doubt, your master, whoever he may be, already knows our father's motives. He told you to appeal to Orcs to come this way and intercept us. How you did it, I will never know."
The disgust in his voice was plain, and she remembered how much elves hated Orcs. Somehow, this distaste, instead of apathy, made Elrohir seem more humane. She knew now that he could feel, and was not an impassive, perfect, wrathful higher being. If he could feel, he could be overcome. If he was not perfect, he had his weaknesses. Now all she had to do was find out what they were.
The comfort brought composure back to Morwen, and she narrowed her eyes at the sky. "You will never get into Dol Guldur alive without me," she threatened softly with confidence. They were going to Dol Guldur. For what purpose, she still did not know, but whatever it was, it was foolish. Her Master would kill these pitiful eight. If anything, he would be delighted to have them as… guests.
"We shall see," Gildor's cold voice thundered, and something hard struck Morwen hard in the back of the head. She remembered nothing else but warm, motherly darkness.
She woke groggily with more of a migraine than she had ever had before. Her mouth was fuzzy and dry, and she could still taste a tinge of bitterness. With effort, she conjured up enough saliva to spit a few times onto the ground. At this, she realized that her gag was gone. Apparently, the elves did not believe that anyone was close enough to hear her scream.
"Eordhe?" a soft voice beckoned, and she immediately seized her spitting, embarrassed that someone had caught her in this disgracing act.
"Who…?" her voice cut off as she tried to form her second word. Her mouth was too dry for speech, and she only succeeded in licking her cracking lips with a moisture-less tongue.
"It is I, Eordhe."
How could she have forgotten that sweet voice, filled with masculinity?
"Cuil…"
"Sh," he held a warm finger to her lips, and she finally opened her eyes to face the perfectly chiseled features that softened every time he smiled. "My brothers do not know I'm here."
The proximity of his body to hers made her feel his heat, and instantly, she wanted him to hold her and tell her that everything was all right. If only this was all a dream and if only them had met in another life time…
"Cuiladan," she finally formed the word. His name brought peace upon her troubled mind and through she was still tied, she leaned forward, wanting to be closer to him. "I… I'm sorry. You hate me."
He ran a hand through her hair, feeling the soft silk beneath his fingers and traced the line of her jaw with his other hand. "No," he whispered. "I couldn't." The hand went beneath her chin and tilted her head so she looked into his eyes. She gasped unwillingly and saw confusion and emotion in those gray orbs. Unlike his brother, Cuiladan had learned to hide his feelings from his face, but not his eyes. "I just want to know why. One good reason why you are here."
Oh, Eru. How could she lie?
"We all have dark pasts," she replied, getting her voice back. "We all must do what we have to do. I am Morwen of Lossarnach, not Eordhe."
"And you had to spy on us? You had to go to extent of pretending to be captured by Orcs to do so?" There was no accusation in his tone, yet she looked away in shame. She did not have to answer for him to know the answer.
A small shink of extracting metal made her heart leap with fear into her throat, and as she looked down and saw the glint of Cuiladan's hunting knife. Her mind panicked, and she thought the worse. Catching the fear in her eyes, the man gave her a rueful smile.
"You still do not trust me?" he asked. He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but Morwen could hear a tremor rack his voice. "After all of this?"
"Do you trust me?"
The question threw the man off track, and he lowered the blade. He searched the ground, as if had lost something, then looked back at the woman. "What can I say? Within ten minutes, the woman I thought I knew could speak my language, turned out to be a noble of Gondor, and what's more, she could be mortal enemy," he voiced hollowly. "No, Morwen of Lossarnach. I do not trust you."
He moved the knife again, but instead of aiming at her throat as she thought he was going to do, he went behind her. She felt the cold of the blade on her palm and then wrist, and knew what he was going to do.
"Do not!" she hissed, knowing what a sacrifice it was for him to do something like that. With all of her strength in her numbed arms and legs, she squirmed away. "You brothers will know!"
"They are my brothers," Cuiladan answered. "They will understand." He moved again to cut the bonds on her wrists and ankles and free her.
"No!" she still resisted. "I have been discovered. I will stay humbled."
He recognized the tone of her voice. It was the one that Elladan used with him when he meant he was serious. Usually, following those orders in that tone saved his life. It only reinforced the information that she was Gondorian nobility. No commoner or slave had that kind of authority taught to her.
Pausing, he swallowed and closed his eyes.
Morwen sighed in relief when she heard the shink of his blade sliding back into its sheath. He got up from behind her and after looking at the back of her bowed head in the moonlight, he stepped back towards the camp.
In his heart, he knew that he had never yearned for anything or anyone more than he did for her, but he knew better than to reveal too much of himself to a possible enemy. For all he knew, she could have been using him all along to get information. But the emotion in her eyes…there was no way anyone could have faked that.
"Wait," her melodious voice, muted by a ragged throat stopped him. "Please…" Cuiladan almost smiled. He knew how it felt to grow up in a family where servants were at his beck and call. Sometimes, it took a lot to remember his manners. There was no doubt that she was nobility.
He knew that he should not, but the heart often overpowers the mind. With his mind shouting warnings at him, he turned around to look into the face he knew he would remember until the day he died.
"Give me one good reason," she was still in the uncomfortable position that her bonds rendered her in, but she was still beautiful as ever, "why you would do a thing like that for a person like me."
For a second, looking into those long-lashed eyes, milky complexion, and womanly figure, he almost let loose what was really in his mind. But, remembering his place, he put on a cold façade and answered in an apathetic voice, "I don't know anymore. Come to think of it, why should I waste the precious love I have between my family for someone like you?"
Morwen's jaw went slack as Cuiladan turned on his heel and stalked off, his back cold and uncaring in the silver moonlight.
Estel crouched lower behind the bushes as his brother walked by. Then, with a shaky sigh, he fell to his knees, sobbing quietly. Despite what Cuiladan had said, he had seen right through his brother's mask.
What was more, he had seen what his brother had been trying to do.
Cuiladan, he thought as his heart wrenched, how could you have come so close to betraying all of us?
TBC...
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