"One last chance, elf."
§§§
Zaharias wearily lifted his head from the cold stone floor. He was so tired. He laid back down and closed his eyes against the glare of torchlight. The darkness soothed his pounding head and eased the aching of his limbs. It would be so easy to give up now and die where he lay. But he couldn't. The message still rang clear in his mind, as clear as the day he heard it.
You are not alone, first-born, despair not. Time will reveal what you desire above all else.
He took solace in the words as much as the one for whom the message was meant for would upon their hearing. If only he could escape this accursed pit that had been his prison for many unnumbered years. As it was, he was far to weak to even think of an escape alone. Little food and water had depleted his strength until could no longer walk far without aid. Even the walk from his cell to where he lay now had sapped him of any energy or will to even move. He lay among the dirt and grime as if dead, ignoring the taunting of harsh voices all around. Something soft struck him across the shoulders, he didn't move. There was a hiss of disappointment when he gave no response.
"He ain't no fun anymore!" a goblin complained. Their king, Slurgoc, laughed.
"Oh he will be. Don't worry." A finger of fear slipped between Zaharias' shoulder blades and chilled his skin. He remained motionless. "How long since he's been watered?" Slurgoc asked. Zaharias' eyes flew open. Water!
"I reckon 'bout a day," the goblin replied. The king appeared to think for a moment, rubbing his scarred and misshapen chin, a cold light glinted in his eyes. He saw Zaharias open his eyes and laughed again.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Some nice fresh water," he taunted. Zaharias tried to move but his efforts failed him. Slurgoc must have seen this because he laughed again. "Pathetic!" he spat. His words had long ago lost their effect on the elf who simply stated at him, pleading.
"Please," he whispered too soft to hear and extended his fingers ever so slightly, reaching for the water he knew would not come. Unbidden a memory came to him. Cool water cascaded down from a high waterfall over his skin. He was laughing, throwing his head back and letting the water splash over his face and fill his mouth before swallowing. Hands pushed him into the pool of clear water below. As he fell he spun and pulled whoever pushed him in with him. They fell with a splash and he swam to the surface coming face to face with a bright-eyed elf laughing, even as Zaharias dunked him back under the water.
The memory vanished and he was left back in the cavern without water yet a faint hope filled him. Fainter than the stars but it was still there. He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory even as it faded. The memory of water leaving him even thirstier than before. Hunger was easier to cope with, after a while the pain went away and he felt nothing. But thirst raged, insatiable and always there. It drove him mad.
"Please," he whispered around his swollen tongue. This time he was heard. A strange light entered Slurgoc's eyes.
"The little whelp is thirsty," he spoke to the crowd. They growled. "I say we give him something to drink! Then we will see what sport he will give us!" The goblins cheered wildly. A goblin, larger than most, stepped forward holding a water skin in his paws. He grabbed Zaharias by the hair and forced his head back. The elf struggled weakly as he poured a vile liquid down his throat. The liquid burned like fire and coated his tongue and the back of his throat like oil. He gagged and spit a mouthful of the stuff out, some entered his lungs and he coughed violently. The goblin poured the rest into him and tossed him aside.
Zaharias scrabbled at the ground while the fire-liquid burned through him. The heat seemed to spread from his middle outward, lending strength to his limbs and easing the pain of past unhealed injuries. He took a shaky breath and discovered that it no longer pained him to do so. He breathed deeply, deeper than he had in a long time. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, marvelling in the ability to move freely. His whole body tingled with warmth and energy, such as he had not known in a long time.
The goblins watched with great enthusiasm as the elf stood, roaring when he tossed his head back in defiance. They would have their sport. Their king held up a meaty hand for silence.
"I said I would give you one more chance to kill me, elf," he said when the cavern fell silent. Zaharias clenched his hands at his side. The longer he stood still the more energy seemed to build up inside him. He needed to move or else lose control. Slurgoc grinned when he saw him bounce impatiently on the balls of his feet. It was working, he'd finally found something strong enough to rouse the elf from his stupor. Three years of experiments had led to this. Now he would see how it performed.
"Bring the Uruk-hai We will have a fight!" he leaned forward and spoke only to Zaharias, though he was still heard by many of the goblins. "Get past them and you may have a chance at killing me," he sneered. Zaharias didn't hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. He did not need to hear him though, if the smallest opportunity presented itself he would kill without hesitation. He was hot, uncomfortably so. Whatever they had given him was strong indeed, and he feared it. Feared the anger that filled him, feared the strength it gave him.
Suddenly seven large and hideous chained Uruk-hai, creations of Saruman that had yet to be purged of the Earth, pounded into the room. Zaharias turned to face the hideous manifestations, struggling to restrain himself. Above all creatures, even goblins, elves hated orcs, like a spirit hates bondage. Uruk-hai were no different. The ones before him were taller than he, and stronger, for Slurgoc nurtured them as prized possessions. They wore ragged loinclothes about their waist, leaving the rest of their bodies naked and gleaming with sweat and oil. Each one bore an identical mark on the right side of his chest, painted in blood, a crude depiction of some foul beast. They snarled at Zaharias, making rude gestures. Zaharias' shoulder twitched with desire to kill them all.
Slurgoc settled more comfortably into his throne and flicked his hand lazily. At once goblins freed the orcs from their chains and stepped back to enjoy the spectacle. The Uruk-hai surrounded Zaharias in a wide circle but made no move to attack. Instead they waited, looking expectantly at Slurgoc.
"No weapons. Bring the elf down but do not kill him. Make him squeal!" he shouted. The Uruk-hai charged Zaharias, shouting savage insults in their own tongue. Zaharias, free at last to move, slipped between two of the spawn and they all crashed into each other, squalling and arguing. Remembering the goblin king, Zaharias made a mad dash toward the throne but one of the Uruk-hai spotted him and barked an order. Zaharias quickly found himself surrounded by large, reeking bodies. He desperately dodged the blows that rained down upon him. A knife flashed in the torchlight.
The drink was slowly wearing off and he could feel his strength flagging. Desperation filled him and he took a flying leap at one of the uruks, landing heavily the beast's chest. Quickly he snapped its neck and leapt free of the carcass. Something tugged at his side as he landed. He needed to break free to kill the king. If he could just get the knife he had seen one of the orcs with. He dodged a punch to his face and returned the favor by bringing his elbow down hard on the Uruk-hai's arm and snapping the bone. The uruk howled and staggered back.
Another Uruk-hai met the same fate, only this time with a well placed kicked to his knee. The ground was slippery with blood. Briefly Zaharias wondered where it came from. None of the injuries he had inflicted should be bleeding. At last he broke free and led the orcs in a circular chase around the small arena while he tried to see which one held the knife.
There! A flash of steel caught his attention. The biggest uruk held it tightly in his fist, trying to hide the weapon. The goblin king had seen the knife but he made no move to stop the fight. Instead he would see what would happen. He was eager to see what the elf would do. Zaharias leapt at the orc with the knife, barreling into the brute with all the strength he could summon. Strength that was fading at an alarming rate. The other uruks jumped out of the way as the two rivals fell.
Zaharias' arm became entangled in the mat of hair that hung from the Uruk-hai's head and twisted. They hit the ground with the elf's arm still underneath the massive creature. A loud crack filled the cavern and Zaharias screamed, writhing painfully on the ground.
"Stop the fight!" Slurgoc yelled but before the goblins could restrain Zaharias he ripped the dagger from the uruk's hand, slit his throat and, ripping his arm free, jumped to his feet and threw the dagger. The blade sailed gracefully through the air blade over hilt and struck the goblin king with a soft thud. Slurgoc looked from the blade to the elf and back again in astonishment.
Zaharias dared look up. All hope fled him. He had aimed to low. Instead of striking the king in the neck the blade had stuck to the fattest part of his belly. Slurgoc grinned cruelly. Zaharias moaned and collapsed to the ground, utterly spent. He was going to die in this prison. Despair filled him as he lay on the ground, clutching his broken arm to his chest and bleeding heavily from a gut wound just above his hip. The fire from the drink had gone from his body leaving behind a broken shell. He had to be dragged back to his cell.
His cell was a huge cavern, much bigger than the one he had just come from. But his cage was much, much smaller. It stood just over his height and was only slightly less wide than he was tall. It hung from a chain far above where a small opening let in daylight. It was dark outside so the only light came from a single torch just outside a heavy stone door that would soon shut and block out any light. Below the cage yawned a chasm of darkness that seemed to have no end. The only way to get to the cage was through a pulley system run by pulling on a crank. The goblins did this as Zaharias lay in a heap at their feet. When the cage of iron bars was close enough they tossed Zaharias in and locked it. They then spun the crank until he was suspended in the middle of the partially hollowed mountain and tossed the key in a nearby bucket and left, closing the door behind them with an ominous boom.
The cage swung wildly from when it had locked roughly into place. Zaharias' stomach rolled and he fought waves of nausea. The drink he had been given had left him feeling ill. He rolled onto his side and the cage pitched and rocked. He groaned and was violently sick over the side, pressing his face against the bars.
When his stomach was empty he collapsed in the middle of the cage and looked up through the hole in the ceiling high above him. Stars twinkled in the distance. As he watched them the moon rose and a sliver of it peeked over the hole, bathing him a silver glow. He was reminded of someone he had met by the light of the moon long ago while on a patrol through his homeland. He reached toward the moon as if it could reach down and rescue him and softly whispered,
"Illeandir, tua amin mellon nin."
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I am quite proud of this chapter.
I would like to take the time to appreciate a very, very talented author who managed to do something that is not easily done.
1). She wrote a captivatingly beautiful story of which I could hardly pause to write a quick comment. Which is why I'm doing this and because you should all go read it.
2). Thoroughly disgusted me at one part. No easy task in itself is it to create an image with words that is truly revolting yet beautiful.
3). Has given me a new respect for Lord of the Rings fanfictions and Has broadened my understanding of the characters of the Fellowship of the Ring with marvelous characters true to form.
4). Have also taught me not to judge a book by it's cover. Though I know not to, but this is the first time I have ever known this to work. Huge congratulations!
I would like to give a huge thanks to MonicaTRodriguez and her book With Hope and Without Hope. I cannot even to begin to describe this book and I feel that if I did I might perhaps, in some way or form, belittle it. It is everything a fanfiction should be. I sincerely hope you continue to write.
I've run out of words. Strange thing to happen to a writer...
This may very well be the last chapter for several days, reason explained in earlier chapters. I'm really sorry but... Life happens so I'll just leave you with this depressing chapter or possibly the next one which, fair warning, you will all probably hate me after. Pick your poison.
- Illeandir