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| Nimeneth |
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| anduril269 |
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| otterling |
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| dreamdancer |
 RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 22, 2006 05:50
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Narmion had been waiting fearfully for Di’Shan’s return- knowing it was inevitable- when the man who’d captured Rolan in the first place showed up. The elf didn’t know why he was here, of course, but he could only assume that it meant more torment for himself and the child- so he could only look toward the tent entrance with an expression of fear, mingled with the pain that was now ever-present. After only a few moments that man turned and ran, and the elf let out a sigh of relief. For a few moments, at least, they had some respite. Neither did he have any hope of rescue, and certainly no silly notions of escape- without a doubt he knew he’d probably not be able to get to his feet (even if they weren’t bound) and then there was forcing his wounded leg to work. It didn’t seem likely- and Rolan’s condition was no better. It was a terrible thing to see the child in so much pain, and so tired. As far as the elf was concerned they were both doomed to die in the wretched tent, far away from Imladris and their friends. He was quite ready for that end- for himself and Rolan. They were both exhausted in every way- it was a weariness that Narmion felt down in his bones, in his very soul.
The moment of strained peace was ended at once, when the tent flap was pushed aside again and the torturer returned. Narmion felt his heart leap into his throat as terror returned. The chuckle that emitted from Di’Shan’s throat chilled him, and he had to choke back the sob that threatened to come forth. It had almost nothing to do with dignity- he no longer cared about his own.
“Impressive little one,” he drawled lazily as his eyes strayed over Rolan once more. The boy’s neck was crusted with his own dried blood and his hair was dirty and matted. The fresh burns still showed brightly across the pale flesh of his chest and elicited a slimy grin from the corners of Di’shan’s mouth, “Impressive but futile.”
In a movement so swift that it made the elf dizzy the man had grabbed Rolan and hurled him across the tent. When he fell Narmion winced, aching for his young friend- but he didn’t have time to wonder fearfully what was coming next before Di’Shan had dropped down beside him and wrenched him upright by a fistful of hair. That single motion seemed to make every one of his hurts throb without relent, and he hissed in pain but had no strength to pull away.
Di’shan leaned in once more, breathing hot threats against fevered skin, “I told you that you would weep for the insult you dared earlier. I’m going to give you a chance to choose his pain. Tell me where to hurt him next. Tell me, do I blind him or do I cut off his hands?” Di’shan’s voice was a harsh whisper, like the hissing of a serpent in Narmion’s ear. “Tell me which Elf…or I’ll do both. And when I’m done, you will answer my questions….fail to do so…lie to me…and we will keep playing this game.”
Narmion’s mind raced and his heart pounded. How could he make such a decision?! His clouded eyes found Rolan’s form and he fought to catch his breath and find his voice- he’d rather have both evils done to himself, but he knew that Di’Shan would definitely carry out his gruesome threat. A choice had to be made- but how could he be forced to make such an awful choice?!
"Leave 'im alone!" Rolan rasped. He coughed and the soreness in his throat amplified. "Leave 'im alone, " the boy asserted again, more quietly this time with Di'shan's cold eyes fixed on him. "'E doesn't know anythin' anyways/ "Ye want news o' the Elfs's place, ye gotsed the wrong 'uns for askerin'. Ye'd a been better offen wit cap'rin somman who knowed whats they be talkin' 'bout." Rolan attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a strangled sob and left his throat even rawer than before, if that was even possible. The boy made several attempts to speak again, but his voice had decided to desert him. Rolan still glared into the Haradrim's eyes, anger and terror intermingling in his body.
Rolan didn’t seem to have heard Di’Shans harsh whispers- but the fierce way that he rasped for his immortal companion-in-misery to be left alone only made the elf’s heartache worse. It would be far more terrible for the boy to suffer both the loss of his hands and his sight- it was for his sake to decide on one or the other… but such an awful burden was the guilt and horror of being faced with the choice that Narmion couldn’t keep in the sob any longer, and it came, followed by others that were raw and grating as they erupted from his parched throat. And then, shutting his eyes to avoid meeting Rolan’s gaze, he found his voice and spoke, shuddering inwardly as the words passed his cracked lips.
“Blind him.”
When he was released he fell heavily back onto the floor and grunted in pain, wishing desperately that they were both free of their miserable prison. His eyes he kept shut, but tears still came freely. He knew that he’d give in and tell the tormentor what he knew- and he was dreadfully ashamed, thinking morosely of his friends in Imladris, and the storm that he would be responsible for sending upon them…. but he simply had no choice.
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Lalaith had spent more time than she meant to with the wounded- but there were so many in need of aid. Ever her thoughts were with Glyndr, though, and when the hours rolled away to midday she was already on her way to the place where she was expected to meet her beloved husband. Their time together would be precious, she knew- it wouldn’t be long before he had another meeting, and then would be leaving. Her heart quailed to think of being parted from him again- what if he was captured like poor Rolan and Narmion? Or worse- what if he was killed? The she-elf didn’t know what she’d do without him. He was all she had- her father and brother were dead, killed in the battle that had claimed so many- the one that had sent Glyndr to Rohan, where she found him. He'd become her whole life... she often wished he would let her accompany him on patrol, simply so she could be at his side. If he died, she wanted to die with him- and if he was hurt, she wanted to be there to take care of him. The only way she'd get on a patrol would be if she followed secretly, though- she knew her husband would never let her go willingly.
She spotted him sitting on a low wall near the gardens, looking as if he were lost in thought. Before she came very close she could tell that he was more badly hurt than before- though he’d obviously cleaned up- and as she approached she put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him, sending her blond locks swaying back and forth.
“What have you gotten into now?” she scolded lovingly, then went to gently stroke the side of his face that was showing the clear signs of a fight, “You are worse than a tom-cat, my love! How is your stomach? Don’t tell me it needs re-stitching…”
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Bellas usually tried to stay out of Glyndr’s way, except when it was necessary- and when the Captain promised to send him the tally that was enough. The elf was quite ready to get back to the smithy and leave the two obviously- angry-and-ready-to-fight elves to their sparring. He was a gifted swordsman, but he preferred to make the blades instead of use them- especially in a duel with someone as ruthless as the kelquinti. He’d hoped that Hanni would join him, but when the two elves left the watchroom she seemed far too interested in the fight.
She marched back over towards Bellas and smiled as she passed him on the way to the door. “And as for you, master smith, You’d better believe I’ll be down there to make sure you’re doing a good job on that metalwork. I’m here to help protect this place to and I’ll not have shoddy work.” Her tone was playful and she headed out to the courtyard to watch the battle. As she left, Hanni smiled up at Istale, “This should be interesting. Join us.”
Bellas grinned at her playful note, rather thinking he could get on well with her- but made no moves to follow, and shook his head slightly when Istale went with the dwarf outside. Even without the tally, there was much work to be done… so, deciding that he’d let Hanni tell him all about the sparring match later, he headed back to the smithy. Once there he removed the shirt (not wanting to get it any dirtier than was necessary) and hung it on a peg near the door before going back to work on the sword he’d been near completing earlier. Removing it, he looked it over and tsked inwardly at the faults he saw- and, after reheating the blade, was back to work.
He was deep into what he was doing, raising and dropping the hammer,lost in the music of the anvil and the fluidity of the familiar motions when a voice penetrated his metal-working song.
She folded her arms and called out, "Bellas! I hope you don't mind my coming to visit!"
Surprised when Neth shouted his name, the elf looked up and let the hammer fall a few inches from its mark, putting a hefty dent in the sword where it was not meant to be. Cursing himself for his carelessness he dropped the hammer and moved to put the steel back into the fire.
“I don’t mind!” he called back, though he was really not very happy she’d come. She’d survived the match with Glyndr, obviously, and that was good- but something about her made the smith feel unsettled. Why, he couldn’t guess- they’d always been friends before, and more than once he’d found his heart stirring when he saw her beautiful face- but whether it was because she’d lost her brothers, or another cause, there was something… disconcerting about her aura when she was near.
“Come on in!” he called again (never one to be rude), and returned the blade to the anvil, retrieving the hammer and (now painfully conscious of the fact that he was shirtless) offered her a friendly smile when she did, “I’m afraid I can’t stop working, but if you don’t mind the noise then you’re welcome.”
Tearing his eyes away from her he went back to hammering, working out the dent in the blade and shaping it some more, then going and sticking it back in the cooling pot. It gave off a hiss and sent up smoke, and then Bellas grabbed a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow before turning back to his (beautiful) visitor.
“It hasn’t changed much,” he said with a grin, waving his hands around him at the smithy, “Just more cluttered.”
(no Delvan… I’m feeling very rusty after being away from writing, but I hope this is ok with yall. Please ignore all of the errors, as I'm much too lazy to go back and fix them  )
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| otterling |
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| dreamdancer |
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| Autumn_Winds |
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| Sirithros_Lirenel |
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| elflyn |
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| Nimeneth |
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| Iell-daughter-of-elves |
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| otterling |
RE: Ever After (Keeper!)
on: May 26, 2006 04:56
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Hanni watched one of the two young humans step forward and begin to speak. The man seemed nervous under the un-blinking stare of his imposing captain and the stout little dwarf risked a glance up at the elf to make sure he hadn’t suddenly grown fangs or sprouted some horrible deformity that would evoke such a reaction. The face that met her gaze was still as stoic as ever, a blank slate of thin luminous alabaster, beneath which, stirred a maelstrom of anger and determination. The ice captain’s eyes were the only exit for all the irritation which seethed just below the surface and they blazed with a ferocity Hanni had never seen. Suddenly, the dwarf understood why the other man seemed so nervous. Indeed, the captain seemed right ready to kill something…a state she found he managed to maintain on a constant basis. Hanni had to repress a chuckle as she wondered if he was this angry when he slept as well. Woe is the pillow that gets in the way of this elf. A small giggle was choked down, a testament to Hanni’s short lived training as an emissary, and she instead satisfied herself with a cough and the straightening of her armor.
The human began to detail a camp site and Hanni blanched just a tad when he mentioned the approximated number of orcs which swarmed about the area. Hanni liked a good fight, but charging into this camp with the rag tag soldiers the elves had left was not her idea of a good time. A figure moved over next to Hanni and she glanced up, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun with one thick gloved hand, to find the smith Bellas standing at her side. He looked down at her and offered a smile which Hanni was all too happy to return. The elf was not dressed in the frilly clothes that his people usually preferred, but was instead shirtless and garbed only in high boots, leather breeches, and the heavy working apron which protected his vulnerable skin from the flames of the forge. His arms held the subtle caramel browns that attested to his working shirtless near heat on a routine basis and his chest was smudged with various streaks of coal dust and soot. Overall, it was a look Hanni wished more elves would adopt and after a few moments of careful contemplation, she was sure that if he put on some more weight and grew himself a mighty beard, he might be passable as cute. Unfortunately, Hanni at this point was just glad he had his shirt off so she could be certain he was a he. These elves all looked a little too alike for her tastes and all of them favored the image of pretty young women.
As the human male was speaking and drawing the outline of the camp, the large devil horse, which had brought them all running with its terrible shrieks, was now wandering to and fro amidst the group. It slipped in and out, a massive black form flowing like a dark specter among the gathered until, at last, it chose its intended victim. With a delicate precision, it plucked the shirt of the kneeling human in its great teeth and pulled him back out of the group. No one seemed to notice this as being odd and Hanni glanced up at Bellas again to check if the elf deemed this behavior as note worthy. Her thoughts were cut short though as the horse-beast moved over toward them and attempted to go for the smith as his next chosen. As he stretched out his great neck to reach for the elf man, a lovely young woman stepped in his path, effectively cutting the animal off. She was a truly lovely thing, not that Hanni had seen an elf yet who wasn’t, and she held a note of command to her posture which set the animal back from its intended course. The beast decided instead to move around and it began to head in Hanni’s direction. She stared at it with obvious mistrust and readied her hammer in her grip. The beast sniffed at her fly-away locks and, having decided evidently that she was either edible or useful in some other way, it reached for her next. Hanni skittered back and brought her hammer up in front of her but the scuffle was short lived as the elf maid once again came to the rescue. She shooed the horse back the way it had come, much to its chagrin, and then spoke up to the captain.
"We have a member of the group who really does wish to be on his way, Captain." Being around Glyndr always left her slightly flustered. He was a very imposing Elf, to say the least. "Diablo has made it quite clear he wishes to be off at once, and from what I know of him, I would assume it is because there is - or will be - great harm coming to Narmion and Rolan.
"Furthermore," she continued, a little more confident now, "he has also indicated his selection of members to go. You may wish to modify the list somewhat, Captain. He chose Eadoin, Bellas, Hannalisa and Arato to go." She indicated the mounts even now making their way from the stables to the courtyard. "I believe he is trying to make certain they come. Please bring everyone home safely."
Hanni stared at the elf maid incredulously. Somehow this woman she had never met already knew her name. Did everyone know her name now? What secretive rumor mill did these thin little tree hugging elves have? Furthermore, Hanni was a bit dubious that the beast-horse was capable of such intelligence as the elf woman seemed to think, though it seemed to certainly be impatient to be on its way. The ice captain finally spoke up.
“Yes ,” Glyndr turned his gaze to Ari, “ The animal is keen to be off, yet I think we must at least plan our moves, and carefully”
Ever the Captain, Glyndr was cautious. He trusted nothing to luck.
He nodded a bow to Ari , “ I shall do all within my power to bring them home safely, you need not fear on that account”.
He looked to each of those whom the horse had gone after in turn and then, his decision made he spoke once more, “ No ,” Glyndr replied to Ari as his ice bright eyes scanned those chosen, “I do not need to modify the choice, Save, that I ask if any of those chosen does not wish to go, then he says so now”.
Hanni looked between the captain and the dark monstrosity which had apparently chosen her to go along. She raised her chin and set her bristly sideburns to twitching in the bravest and most intimidating manner she could muster before stating clearly, “I doubt you’ll find a coward here, Master Elf. Aye, I’ll come with ye. But I’ll not take orders from a horse so you’ll have to speak up if you have a plan.” Hanni had firmly decided she would not take orders from a beast of burden, especially one she was convinced had spewed forth from some forgotten abyss. The captain made his way to the animal’s side and he spoke to it as if addressing a person.
Elves were decidedly strange.
The captain picked out a soldier from the gathered crowd and let him know, in no uncertain terms, that a doom far worse than orcs awaited him should the soldier fail in his duties during the captain’s absence. Then, the captain headed back toward the woman who had been clinging to his arm during the meeting. She stood, frail and shining in the sunlight and Hanni likened her to a thin golden thread shivering in the breeze. Should the captain fall in battle, she feared that thread would break. The elf maid looked upon her ice captain and there passed between them unspoken words before he stole one last kiss and then mounted into the saddle of his warhorse. The stable boy who had led the horse back out in full livery now handed the captain the reigns of another mare and Hanni had the sinking realization that they were going to ride out to the camp. The chosen humans mounted up onto their horses and Hanni shuffled over, hammer still at the ready, stopping near the ring of mounts. The only ones not on a horse at this point were Bellas and herself. Hanni wondered if the smith would also mount onto a horse, or chose the more sensible option and just walk.
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The second round of screaming finally subsided, leaving the forests echoing with the last fading cries of the elf captive. The boy had long since given over to darkness once more and Di’shan had turned at last to Narmion for the information he wanted. With names and a scant bit of valuable knowledge in hand, Di’shan stepped once more from his tent. From the foul smell that lingered just to the left of his lodging, Di’shan could well guess that one of the orc guards had vomited during this last session. It stood on shaky legs and visibly flinched when Di’shan threw back the tent flap, its skin going a shade more olive than was normal. The other orc was busy suppressing a chuckle at his companion’s discomfort though he straightened and went silent at Di’shan’s appearance. Di’shan moved over to his basin again and once more he cleaned his arms and hands of the crimson marks which speckled his skin. One of the many orcs at Ondet’s command came scurrying over then, its head lowered in respect. It’s gurgled through a layer of mucus as it finally spoke to the Harad man, “The Lord wants to speak with you. He said it’s of great importance.” Di’shan sneered at the foul beast and calmly reached for a towel with which to dry himself.
“Tell Lord Ondet that I am almost finished with the prisoners and I will be with him shortly,” Di’shan drawled before turning back to his tent, tossing his towel over one shoulder as he moved.
“He says it’s about Dirk,” a sly smile crept onto the twisted face of the orc messenger; in this short moment, the vile thing knew it had caught the torturer’s attention. The steady stride of Di’shan’s boots faltered and he spun in place with one fluid motion, his attention now fixed on the foul little abomination still bent over before him. He stood silent for a moment watching the orc and trying to decide how much truth there was to its words. If Dirk had finally over stepped his bounds, then surely Ondet was sending him forth for more fun. What wonderful thing had Di’shan done to deserve such a windfall? He had been handed an elf, a boy, and a magnificent horse, now he was being offered Dirk’s family as well. A truly ecstatic grin began to form on Di’shan’s face as all the many dreams he’d had about what awaited Dirk’s children filtered back to his mind. Di’shan turned and poked his head into the tent for just a moment. “I’m afraid our little session will have to be put on hold for the time being. I have other business to attend,” he stated mockingly to the limp and shivering form of Narmion, “Now don’t go anywhere.”
Di’shan pulled back and looked at the two orcs who were standing guard, his voice was smooth and rich, like melted chocolate as he spoke, “Watch them carefully, I would be most upset if they aren’t here when I get back.” Leaving two visibly stiff and nervous forms in his wake, Di’shan moved off toward Ondet’s tent, whistling softly as he went. The orc messenger was loping along in front of him, leading the way despite the fact that Di’shan knew full well where to go.
The Harad man could not have been happier.
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