[~cries~ I just wrote... grr...]

Boromir was mildly suspicious when his court messengers conveyed this to
him; he rarely had dealings with these hunters, although he interfered not
with his people’s choosing to do business with them. It was not to be
denied that these hunters often peddled that which was much to be desired
in Minas Tirith; trade in such varied and valuable items increased the
status of Anórien among the other independent states in the realm of Gondor.

However, his curiosity was piqued; he saw no harm in conferring with the
hunters, and so sent word that he would meet them, as requested. Shortly
after noon he left his palace to descend to the gates of the White City,
where the hunters would be waiting.

There was already a large throng of people at the gates, engaged in
negotiations and haggling over prices with the traders; however, all
activity ceased the moment they saw that King Boromir and Prince Faramir
had arrived, and the transactions in progress were put on hold as the
hunters gathered forward to speak with the king. There were four of them in
all; their leader was a stout man with bushy beard, and an unyielding look
about him.

Presently, the leader of the hunters stepped forward, and bowed low before
the king and prince.

“Good afternoon, my noble lords,” he said with exaggerated politeness; the
crooked smile on his lips betrayed his true devious nature, and Boromir was
not deceived.

“What would you desire to speak to me about?” he asked, his tone clipped
and formal. “It is the middle of the day, and other matters of import also
beckon.”

“Gracious you are, lord, for finding the time to speak with us lowly
travelling traders,” the leader continued, although the glint in his eye
remained. “I’m sure you will discover that your precious time spent here is
far from wasted... indeed, you will find much pleasure ere our leave be taken.”

“That I will judge, when I have heard the matter,” Boromir said in a
non-committal way.

“Is it not true, as rumours say,” the leader said slyly, “that in Minas
Tirith and its surrounding country, slavery has been legalised and made a
way of life amongst you?”

“Yes,” Boromir replied stiffly, after a brief hesitation. “Yet it is also
the manner of the other states in the realm of Gondor, and this is a local
statute that has little to do with the trade you deal in.” He allowed a
tone of impatience to slip into his voice. “Now, what have you to say about
your own matter? Speak swiftly, and I will give reply as I deem fit.”

“Very well; I will be brief and direct.” The leader turned and signalled to
his companions, two of whom went at once to their caravan. They disappeared
inside, drawing the flaps closed behind them; there followed some muffled
noises from within.

The crowd waited in anticipation; a few minutes later their heads
reappeared and they climbed out, although with some difficulty, as if they
were dragging something heavy or reluctant. People craned their necks to
catch a glimpse of the load that the two hunters were hauling out of the
caravan -- perhaps a treasure chest, full of jewels and lost wonders? --
but they gasped when they finally saw what it was. It was more exquisite
and beautiful than jewels, for it was living, and beyond wonders that many
of them had ever imagined. Few had beheld another of its kind before; yet
to all it was unmistakable what this creature was.

An Elf.

They all stared, fascinated by the elf’s wild, undefined beauty -- natural
as the stars, and captivating as the Sea. It was clear that great effort
had been taken by the hunters to preserve this prized possession in its
prime condition; yet the elf had not escaped unscathed, perhaps having had
to be subdued by force on several occasions prior. There was a fresh bruise
flowering on her cheekbone, yet still it did not mar the delicate features
set in the pale face; the elf’s eyes shone with a defiant light, an emerald fire, as she twisted against the leather bands that held her arms behind her
back, although to no avail. Her raven hair fell in fine, slightly tousled
locks upon her slim shoulders.

One of the hunters started to shove the elf forward, impatiently; but the
other quickly hissed at him, and they both made a concerted effort to treat
their prisoner less roughly. The elf’s ankles were shackled with chains
that chafed her smooth skin raw. She wore a tunic of dark green, the raiment
of folk who dwell in forests; it hid but flattered the slim body that lay
beneath, and was torn in places to reveal pale bare skin. The elf wrenched
violently away from the touch of the hunters each time they tried to urge
her along; she rebuked them in her own tongue, which sounded melancholic and
melodious like a lament of nature.

The leader of the hunters noticed Boromir’s unabashed hunger, and smiled;
the king was not known for his subtlety or power in restraint. This boded
well for the hunters; perhaps half the battle was already won.

“Behold!” the leader indicated the elf with a proud sweep of his hand.
“This is a prize beyond the reckoning of gold and silver; one of the rarest
and most beautiful species that walk the earth, a gem from the forests of
Mirkwood in the vast lands beyond. We went forth and brought him hence,
since we knew that she would bring you much pleasure, O king. A slave such
as this you would likely never see again.”

“You chose well,” Boromir acknowledged curtly. “What would you ask for his
price?”

[Sorry thats so long... ^^"]

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

The Prince Faramir was looking on with barely disguised horror. He made to step forward but restrained himself, his face taut. "Brother, this most lovely of all races should not be subjected to this horror," he said in a low voice to his older brother.

At that moment there was a scuffle from a nearby tent and a short, slight human girl with oddly contrasting white-blonde hair and dark skin burst out, her hands bound tightly behind her. "You cannot do this!" she cried, her large purple eyes pleading. "She is an elf - a Firstborn of Iluvatar! Has the race of Men fallen so far?" She opened her mouth to say more but one of the traders caught her roughly by the arm and clamped a large hand over her mouth. She struggled violently but could not escape his grasp.

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The King swung round to glare at the strange girl, t he spark in his eyes sparkling again."Silence!" he belowed. The people around him stopped their mutterings .
"Speak on." he turned his eyes on the two women, his gaze flickering to the leader again.
“Only a trifle, my lord,” the leader said, his voice placating. “It is but
a small thing, a token for a possession as priceless as this; the rest of
its value consider a gift of goodwill from our peoples to yours. We ask
only for the dwelling places that lie beyond the Anduin, on the farther
shore that your city looks upon: the land of Ithilien.”

“You ask for Ithilien!” Boromir laughed sharply, and shook his head. “Then
you do belittle the worth of the land, if you think that its length and
breadth is worth an exchange for a single slave, even though she be an elf
of Mirkwood and the other," he let her gaze graze of the young girl again". Much of the land is not populated, no doubt; yet it has rich
resources of game for hunting and fishing, and we will not cast it aside so
lightly. It is ours by territorial right, and its value is far greater than
what you offer.”

“Pardon I beg if I spoke contrary to my intention,” the leader said, still
glib and smooth of tongue. “Rather we hold Ithilien in high regard. As a
travelling folk we have wandered many leagues, homeless; above all, we wish
to have a land to call our own. We greatly desire Ithilien, and it would be
an honour to dwell at such proximity to your fine city. We have searched
far and wide to find this gift to present to you, O King Boromir, and we
wish it to find delight in your eyes -- for the elf is immortal, and her
beauty will never fade. The girl could go for light labour- though if you relish those eyes mylord, Isuggest you keep her with the elf. They seemed to have bonded in short time already. They would be fine heirlooms of your house for
generations to come.”

Boromir looked thoughtful; he was silent for a moment, and the stillness
settled without a ripple over the entire assembly as they waited for him to
make up his mind. Boromir’s restless eyes strayed towards the elf once
more, and remained there; the elf looked back at him, and a fiery will
burned in her eyes, unbroken still. But rather than being deterred, this
aroused a sense of challenge in Boromir; he took a step forward.

“I shall inspect the gift, ere I give you my reply,” he said, not taking
his eyes off the elf.

Noone did anything except watch Boromir walk towards the elf,
who stood her ground.

Boromir neared the elf, who did not flinch even as he drew to a halt merely
inches away; there was still a great fire that blazed in those emerald-gold
eyes, a fierce resentment at being called a ‘slave’ and traded casually for
a plot of land. Even as he looked into the elf’s eyes Boromir hesitated to
touch her, seeing clearly the explosiveness within this lithe being.
However, courage and need bettered his wariness, and he reached forward to
brush his hand lightly against the elf’s dirt-stained cheek. It was a
tender movement, seemingly; although beneath it was a yearning insistence,
which the elf evidently detected; she moved a step backwards, breaking contact.

A shadow of anger flitted across Boromir’s face; but a possessive
determination triumphed, and he drew back calmly, a grim smile on his face
as he turned to the leader, who was waiting eagerly for an answer.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

The girl again broke away and dashed towards Boromir and the elf, almost reaching them before the trader caught up with her. "I am not an heirloom," she spat. "Don't touch her, you vile -" this last comment was directed fiercely at Boromir before the girl was again subdued.

Faramir took an uneasy step forward, his hand on his brother's arm. "Boromir..." he said, a warning in his voice.

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The leaders angry eyes fell upon the girl, as Boromirs did upon his younger brother.
"Hush there bother,"he muttered, his voice dangerously calm"Speak not of what you know not."
He squared his shoulders, aware of his peoples eyes upon him, and took a step towards the girl. With a lazy smile, he raised his palm, and backhanded her powerfully across the cheeck, sending her reeling"I touch what I want girl . " he growled, turning on the leader, and the elf, who still stood proud, her eyes fixed on her defendant, filled with sorrow for teh blow. She swore again, jumbling up phrazes from differant toungs.
“I will lease you the land of Ithilien for five years,” Boromir finally
judged; and Faramir despaired, for he knew his brother had yielded to the
temptation to barter their country’s land for what was clearly a personal
pursuit. “For five years you may dwell there, you and your people; that
shall be the price for this elf-slave.” He spoke the last word
deliberately, and darkly relished the helpless rage in the elf’s eyes.

“Twelve years,” countered the leader, driving a hard bargain.
“Seven years and that is my final offer,” Boromir said flatly; he may have
yearned deeply for the prize offered, but he would not be taken advantage
of by reason of weakness. He gave the elf a careless look that disguised
the intensity of his true feelings, and turned to face the leader of the
hunters. “This which you offer, though of high quality, cannot justify such
an exorbitant price. Seven years, and no more.”

The leader consulted briefly with his companions; finally, they acquiesced,
and the matter was sealed. The terms were swiftly agreed upon: the captured elf and the girl would be promptly handed over to Boromir (for the king did not trust the hunters to treat their captives decently any longer, once their usefulness in negotiating a deal was served); in return, they would receive the written deed giving them leave to roam and live in the deserted realm of Ithilien for seven years.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

The girl still lay where she had fallen, an angry red mark on her face where the King had struck her. There were tears in her eyes now. She slowly got to her feet, but did not look up. A tear rolled down her cheek and she turned her face away, blinking fiercely. She could not bear the thought of the proud kingdom of Gondor descending to such a vile practice as this, and though she was now suitably wary of the King, she did not disguise the fury and disgust in her eyes as she looked at him.

Faramir watched with pity but could do nothing that would not be misconstrued as disloyal to his brother.

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A young girl stood on the down the white stairs which leaded to the beautiful house of the King. Her golden hair was caught in the strong breeze so that her bright blue eyes couldn't be seen. They were full of sorrow since it was long that she had smiled. Her name was Miriel and she had been a slave in the court of the King for long.
There were rumors that the Hunters made a special deal with King Boromir. To escape her duties Miriel had fled outside to watch the King arrive, for she had seen them coming. She was sure to get in trouble by not doing her tasks but her curiousity won it of her fear of her punishment and she stood in the shadows of the house watching the entrance.
First the King and his brother Faramir arrived, Boroimir had a satisfied and victorious look on his face though his brother Faramir looked sad and troubled. Than 2 girls were led through the gate, their hands were bound and both of exquisite beauty.
Miriel heard heavy footsteps and a man with a brown long hair , a light beard and a fair face walked down the stairs. He was the steward of the city, though in service of Boromir. He was Aragorn, friend of Miriel though she was a slave girl. They had long conversations, deep in the night, sometimes about their home country. Miriel had the deepest respect for him.
King Borormir had now turned around and watched Aragorn approach. Miriel quickly wanted to walk away but she was too late. The King had already spotted her and she was nailed to the ground.

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

The girl walked alongside the taller elf, her head down. Tears had made trails down her dirty face and her eyes were still sad. Her wrists were chafed from the tight ropes. She looked up and noticed another, likely a slave like herself, looking at the King apprehensively. She did not look at Boromir herself but she felt the mark that was still fading on her cheek acutely. She glanced up at the elf, a little ashamed of her tears.

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The elf smiled at her kindly, her eyes offering encouargement and hope. "Dont cry,"she murmered, so low as only the girl could hear "We will prevail."
Then she turned her raven head back forward, the passive exspression returning over her sculpted feautures.
She caught sight of another girl, standing up ahead. Quickly she averted her gaze, feeling ashamed of herself, and carried on walking, trying to cheer up the violet-eyed girl next to her.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

The girl tried to smile and barely managed it. She looked tired and sad still, but she was very pretty when she smiled. She looked around the wide courtyard, shrinking a little and purposely averting her gaze from where Boromir rode next to them.

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Aragorn had the King and Prince Faramir seen arrive. He had a bad feeling about these Hunters where Faramir worriedly had spoken about. He sighed while he descended the white stairs. He caught a glimpse of a girl with golden hair and a simple blue tunic but quickly looked at Faramir so that her presence would not mbe noticed.
Aragorn's heart filled with horror when he saw two young girls being dragged through the gate. One, he quickly noted to be an Elf and the other was human like himself, was in tears.
Aragorn turned to Faramir but he quitly said "Later" So Aragorn remained silent.

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

As they reached the gates, Boromir dismounted, placing a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. He grinned possesively, and gently but firmly ushered them into the palace.
Emerald eyes bored into the side of the mans face, as they stepped into the throne room, and then through that into a long corridor and into a large whitewashed room with a barred window.
Boromir shoved the two insde, after cutting their bonds carefully and touching each on the side of the head fondly.
The bolt was shoved across heavily , echoing in the deserted wing of the Kings house.
When they were alone, the elf hurried over to the girl "Are you alright?" she asked in a melidous voice, her disgusted face at the behaivor of the King evapourating as concern swept over her face. Her eyes lingered on the bruise, and she gently touched her own.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

The girl nodded but didn't meet the elf's eyes. She drew her knees up, shivering a little. "I'm Ilythiiri," she said after a moment, very quietly. She shuddered a little, rubbing her shoulder where the King had touched her. "Oh - I want to go home!" she said suddenly, trying again not to cry.

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Miriel hurried herself through the side entrance and the kitchen. She was happy it was deserted. When she enteredthe little white chamber she saw the startled look on the girls faces.
"Please, don't be scared," said Miriel. "My name is Miriel...I've been a slave in the court for a long time" A deep pain was shown on her face but Miriel tried to cover it by a wave of her hand through her hair.
"If you need anything please come to me"
Suddenly Miriel was interupted by a raw shout from the corridor. She left the girls, while the painful memories of the time she was braught here came back to her.
She entered the large kitchen and hesitated. A fierce man approached her. The rage could be seen on his face.
"Where have you been girl?!" He slammed Miriel in the face and her nose started bleeding. Only before he left he growled: "Back to your duties slave"

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

The elf stared startled at the girl who had entered so abruptly. It had been the girl from earlier, the one on the stairs.
She glanced back at Ilythiir, and smiled, gently pushing the dor open. There was a loud scraping sound, which she was sure someone must've heard.
"Come now, your tears can be shed later,"she whispered, glancing up and down the corridor, holding her breath" I only wish the othe girl... Come, quickly." she retreated back into the room and pulled the pretty girl out whith her. "Whatever happens, dont scream, or shout, or attrakt attention to yourself. If we are caught, you will say nothing except that I forced you, do you understand mellon-nîn ? " Her voice held the steely edge of a warrior, or war-master, leaving to choice other than to obey.
She grabbed her shoulder with slender fingers "We will escape, now, let us hurry."
She darted nimbly down the corridor, footsteps silent, and saying a quiet prayer fr the girl who had simply forgotten to bar the door.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

Ilythiiri frowned for an instant, trying to understand, and then nodded. She dashed a hand over her eyes and followed, though she had no intention of obeying the last part of the elf's order. Ilythiiri could be a bit of a coward but she thought that if she could be dragged from South Gondor all the way to Minas Tirith in the company of less than gentle men, she could survive a little more discomfort rather than lie to protect herself. She clenched her teeth and again felt the bruise on her face. She hoped that a little vengeance could be had for that.

[[Argh, I really want to keep going, but I'm going to be away this weekend. You can RP Ilythiiri if necessary during that time]]

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