Wow, two chapters in one night! This is a rare occurrence. Get your cameras. Anyhoo, it's Tirnel Time! And yes she does get smacked around a bit, but not like last time. Nothing like that again. Swear.
Saruman smiled, his hand clenched tightly around the small hoop of gold. It seemed hot in his hand, and he hurried toward his study where Wormtongue waited, stoking a fire.
"My lord, where have you been?" Wormtongue asked, setting the poker down. "I have been hearing screams, but I cannot discern their origin."
"Pay them no mind." Saruman swept past his vassal and stooped before the fire. He opened his hand.
There, shining in the light of the flames, was the ring. It shone innocently at him, and he smiled evilly to know the ring's secret. Wormtongue crept up behind him, confused and whining. "My lord, what is that? Why did you have me stoke the fire so high?"
"Later, Grima, later." Saruman wiped the sweat from his brow, panting slightly from the intense heat of the fire. Now was the time to cast the ring into the glowing embers of the fire, to set it among the coals. It was suddenly very difficult for Saruman to extend his arm and rotate his hand. That was all it would take, to throw the ring into the depths of the flames. And yet the wizard could not. It was only when Saruman realized that Wormtongue was eyeing the ring that he was able to fling it into the coals. He heard Wormtongue's intake of breath, and smirked as he watched the ring begin to glow. It shone in the flames, brighter than he thought that it must, and seemed to sparkle like sun on water.
Saruman quickly realized that the ring was melting, sinking in upon itself, and turning to liquid as he watched, horrified. The ring had melted away, almost completely, before Saruman grabbed the poker and spilled the coals on the stone floor. Grima yelped and scrambled back, leaping onto a chair to protect his feet, but Saruman poked through the coals with his staff until he found the lump of gold. It was twisted and filthy from the ashes, but bits of it still shone, as if to say, I am still pure, though you tried to destroy me. That defiance made Saruman recollect the elf in his dungeons, from whom he had taken the ring.
Deep in the dungeons below Isengard, that elf was dying. Tirnel could feel her light fading very slowly from her body: The stone of her ring, which usually reflected back all light, no matter how faint, only reflected the tiniest shred of light back at her. The air in her cell was stagnant and foul-smelling, and her own blood had been added to the sticky puddles on the floor. Her legs did not want to move at all, and every time they twitched in reflex, they lit up her nerves like fire in dry hay. Tears slid down her face as she dragged herself upright, sitting with her back leaning against the stone wall as she tried to regain her breath. The salt stood out against the dark floor, mocking the stars so far away. A thunderous knock like a battering ram sounded at the door. Orcs burst through it, jubilant and loud. She winced as their language blistered her ears and pierced her mind. One of them, the biggest, hauled her upright and tried to set her on her feet, but her legs crumpled. She cried out as she hit the floor, sure that her cuts had opened again.
"Get up, elf-scum!" it yelled. It landed a kick to Tirnel's ribs, making her wheeze and another tear seep out of her eyes. "Got a special treat for you today!" Orcs spread themselves around the perimeter of the room, two stationing themselves before the door.
Tirnel clawed herself upright on the wall, clinging to the chains that hung there, willing her tears not to fall. She managed to stand, back pressed against the wall, legs shaking with effort. Hot blood ran down the backs of her legs, making her bare feet slip on the stone. The door opened again.
Saruman entered, a small man with greasy hair trailing after him. The wizard was resplendent in his fury, sweeping across the dungeon and stopping in front of Tirnel.
"You lied to me," he hissed, then struck her across the face. Tirnel's legs gave out and she slumped to the floor, lip bleeding. "It was not the true Ring!" He threw a chunk of mangled and blackened gold to the floor between them.
Tirnel tried to sit up, but her arms trembled badly. "Did I ever allude to you that it was?" she whispered.
He snarled wordlessly and struck her again. The greasy man peered around the wizard, seeming curious. "My lord Saruman," he began, "I have only ever seen an elf once before; would you permit me to examine this one?"
Saruman nodded and left the room, magic humming about him like angry bees. The man knelt by Tirnel's head and took her face in his hand. "So fair," he muttered. She shuddered as he ran his thumb over her bloody lips, leaving a streak of blood on her face. He raised one hand, and Mauhúr pulled Tirnel to her feet. "Be sure not to harm her much more," the man said, stepping back from Tirnel. "I want her in good condition. After Sharkey is done with her, she comes to me. Only after that does she go to you." He left the dungeon as well.
"Well, well," the Dunlander growled in her ear. "Just us again." The other orcs stepped back, letting Mauhúr spin Tirnel around and grab both of her arms. He shoved her against the wall, setting her head spinning as he murmured the foul language to her, hands still tight on her arms and breath hot on her neck.
"Chebo ber lin ello nîn, orch!" Tirnel hissed. The orcs howled at the sound of Sindarin, and Mauhúr placed his hand at her throat.
The door opened again, and Saruman and man were back. "Release her," the wizard snapped. Mauhúr snarled and tightened his grip on Tirnel's arm and throat, making her choke. "Now," Saruman added harshly. "We need her in good condition."
He snorted in disapproval, but shoved her to the floor. The greasy man pulled her over to the wall and wrapped a manacle around her left wrist. He locked it tight, pinching her skin. She refused to react, staring straight ahead even as his hand grazed her knee when he reached for the other manacle. He locked her right hand to the wall, then left with the wizard, the orcs following reluctantly behind.
The door slammed shut. There was a tap from the other side, and the handle glowed white for a moment. Locked with magic, she thought grimly. It's not as though I'm able to escape, or even to try! she wanted to shout. She winced as her legs throbbed, then tried to sit in a more comfortable position against the wall, fidgeting with the ring on her right index finger. It was going to be a long night.
Late in the night, by Tirnel's reckoning, she woke. She hissed in pain as her legs twitched.
"Well, this is a nice situation you've gotten yourself in, darling."
Tirnel's head jerked up. An elleth was leaning against the wall beside the door, picking her nails idly. She glowed more brightly than was normal, her features seeming extremely familiar: It was like Tirnel was looking at an older version of herself with a few things deliberately different. "Who...who are you?" she asked. Her mouth felt as though it had been filled with cloth.
The elleth laughed, walking over and sitting down before Tirnel. "Why, don't you recognize me? I'm your mother."
The elleth laughed at the look on her daughter's face. "But you were killed!" Tirnel cried hoarsely. "The spiders. I remember it!"
"Of course you do. I'm not really here, am I? This is all in your head." Laergulwen reached out to Tirnel's face. Her hand passed right through her daughter's cheek, leaving the elfling with the feeling of a chill wind caressing her face.
Tirnel swallowed, mouth dry. "Why are you here?"
Laergulwen laughed. "Moral support," she said. "I will stay, stay for as long you need me." She smiled sadly, gazing at her daughter as Tirnel nodded and fell asleep once more. "I'm so proud of you. Díheno nin."
And now we see a bit of the mother! Wow, who was expecting that? Well, me. Yay! Chapters! Hopefully reviews! Yay!
Sindarin Translation:
Chebo ber lin ello nîn, orch - Keep your hands from me, orc
Díheno nin - Forgive me