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Post subject:  Posted: March 8th, 2010, 1:16 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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(Okies, Morwen! Thanks for explaining. Your charrie’s history sounds very interesting! =)
I’m taking the Mouth of Sauron out of the scene for a while. His absence shall provide the prisoners with the opportunity, if they choose to take it, to plot amongst themselves, mwuahaaaa!)
Luthien looked at Morwen blankly as she gave her a warning about defiance; the Gondorian girl had not said one word out of turn or fought the Mouth of Sauron in any way. She knew well enough that the monster in charge here could hardly be openly battled, and had no need to be reprimanded. It seemed to her that this was a warning dealt by someone wearied; part of a mask that had been built up after years. Luthien regarded the elven woman silently, unable to reply, but nor indeed did she have any wish to, in case the Mouth should make some objection. It was best to remain silent, so that nothing could be accused of her. Her entire body was aching and bruised after she had been thrown to the floor, and her lip was beginning to bleed.
Slowly, she glanced up at Beör, who was holding her hand back tightly. She clutched at his hand as if she was holding onto dear life; but the set of her shoulders was determined, and she held her head up, despite the pain. Nothing and no one would make her betray herself by cowering, even in this worst of moments.
She watched the Mouth of Sauron as he tucked the iron key of the prison cells back into his pocket; he seemed to be musing over something. Turning towards Beör with a grin, he did not mention the man’s earlier sarcastic comment, which might have been punished harshly; he only took a small step towards him.
“I think you shall accompany your fellow prisoner to my chambers,” he decided. “You shall both await me there until I have decided what is to be done with both of you.” His tone indicated that he would make the decision very much at his leisure, in order to extract as much pain and anxiety from the situation as possible. With one hand he summoned to Morwen. “You shall take them, Morwen. Do show them some hospitality, won’t you?” he turned his ghastly smile towards her.
Luthien’s mind was working fast as she listened to the Mouth’s words. He was going to leave them, at least for a little while, alone. It was strange; he did not seem to trust the servant Morwen particularly, and yet he was entrusting his prisoners, no less, into her care. All in one decision, too, he was providing Luthien with the perfect chance to enlist another supporter for her plan. At least, it would be so when and if she knew she could trust the elf.
The Mouth turned with a swish of his black cloak. “Make sure that they are there when I return,” he commanded, and with a slam of the iron door he had left the block of cells. Luthien felt an inward rush of relief that he was gone from their presence. He carried such a sense of menace and cruelty; he was, in every sense of the word, a monster.
_________________ 
~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: March 8th, 2010, 2:07 pm |
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Joined: 03 June 2006
Posts: 5673
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Beör stood still next to Lutien, even after the Mouth of Sauron had left them. All colour had drained from his face and he had the complexion of someone who'd caught a heavy fever. The words of the vicious creature still echoed in his ears. Words of hidden threats and cunning designs.
Slowly he let go of Luthien's hand and gave her a look of caution. The Mouth may have left the cells, but danger had not yet vanished. Who knew what assignment he had given his servant, as innocent as she look or may have been. Under pressure, she could be forced to do anything..
_________________
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.
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Post subject: Posted: March 8th, 2010, 4:43 pm |
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Joined: 04 January 2007
Posts: 1939
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Maethoriel's rocking ceased as she heard light footsteps in the hall. Her entire posture of near unconsciousness bolted forward into a rigid position that closely resembled rigor mortise. Her head turned, and she hardly noticed that the pipe that occupied her mouth had dropped to the ground with an abused clatter. The room was filled with smoke that shone yellow in the gleaming candlelight.
Light footsteps in the hall. Light...light. Footsteps. Quiet, small, no...tall, lanky, dark. Cold, cold, cold. Her mind moved through all these words fast, but she spoke them allowed as well.
A hand was on the door and the madwoman - or perhaps not so mad, had a flash of sight again. She knew the footsteps before, but now she was certain.
"Burn her with all the fire in me," she muttered and somewhere in the recesses of her mind she heard a sigh and she knew her own sponsor in this world was shaking his head while his wife leaned over a loom trying to find the scattered pieces of what would have been a wonderful story.
Maethoriel's hand twisted about her cane and she felt life and fire and anger and hatred. So many other things that couldn't be felt before.
"I earned this," she said a bit loudly and to the air. Someone was listening, she knew. And she brandished her cane as if it were a weapon, but it too quickly fell back to its original use as the woman sat back on her bed.
Her voice and mind recovered a bit and she called to the woman at the door in a rough voice, worn by many bad habits.
"Enter, Arawen." She demanded loudly.
She could imagine the scene from the woman's eyes, perhaps she was indeed seeing it too. Silvery mist that flickered gold surrounded the room - invaded every crevice. The woman with dark hair sat stoically on her bed, both hands resting on the cane in front of her. The flickering light lent darkness to the scar on her face and amplified the deranged light of her eyes - the effect of glowing red like a dragon.
It was strange, like being pulled back to your own body. Maethoriel couldn't picture herself anymore, nor could she say if she had been looking for too long. Arawen, was still in the door, she knew that. No, it wasn't too long then. She hadn't spoke yet, she thought and if she had it wasn't all that important. Maethoriel had found her power that had long since been denied of her since the day she chose to forfeit the world beyond in hopes of living again. It ran hot through her veins and she felt that if someone touched her now they would feel it coursing like molten metal. She was still brilliant and deranged, but the cold and passive air from before turned to heat and it was all but too noticeable.
_________________ Heavens no. Hell Yeah.  Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me
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Post subject: Posted: March 8th, 2010, 10:00 pm |
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Joined: 01 November 2005
Posts: 322
Location: That way. *points left and right*
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"Of course" Morwen said calmly, watching as the Mouth left.
Once the door slammed shut, Morwen hissed in dislike, then looked at the two, "Come with me. we'll be less likely to be eavesdropped on upstairs." She turned to lead them upstairs silently.
_________________ 
Banner and avvie by me
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Post subject: Posted: March 9th, 2010, 5:08 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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Luthien caught Beör’s look of caution as he let go of her hand, and she attempted a reassuring smile in return; she felt cold, colder than she’d ever felt, and slightly in shock. Being in the Mouth of Sauron’s presence had been the most terrifying experience of her life. Now she knew what she was up against. But, despite the pain that she still felt, despite the aftermath of her fear, she still was not shaken in her purpose. If anything, seeing the Mouth face to face had only reinforced her determination to break free of this place. What right did that creature have to preside over them like some sort of demented king in his ugly, cold, dark, mean palace? What was he, anyway, in the end? A second in command playing the part of number one. Luthien wondered, briefly, why he spent so much time bothering even to notice his prisoners; surely he had much more grand and terrible designs to work on. She supposed that they were simply an amusing diversion from his life’s work. It was chilling to realise that he found the plight of his captives funny, hilarious, even.
She looked towards Morwen, curious at the elven woman’s words, which were intriguing. Trying to weigh up the danger of replying, Luthien followed her through the iron door, wincing slightly with the pain that the Mouth of Sauron had inflicted. She looked over her shoulder at Beör, wanting to know that he followed Morwen too. After the ordeal they had just endured together, the shared terror, she was anxious that they stuck together.
Quietly, as she followed Morwen, she decided that she would ask one question; a safe question that couldn’t be distorted to mean anything other than it said. “Are you taking us to the Mouth’s chambers?” that was what the Mouth had commanded. Luthien was curious as to what they looked like. She was sure that they would be grand and austere, a world away from the prison block.
~~~
From the other side of the door of Maethoriel’s room, Arawen could hear the woman talking. To herself? She rested one slim, pale hand on the door handle, waiting for an indication that she could enter the room. Standing there, Arawen wasn’t sure what she felt. She felt slightly distant from the situation, from what she was about to do. For so long she had denied so much about herself, pushed back so much of her old self, that the idea of helping anyone felt odd and utterly unfamiliar. It seemed a lifetime since she had ever done something kind, something helpful.
In this moment, now, she remembered. Her determination, which still thrived strong within her now, had once been tinged with a desire to do good. Her stubbornness had once been part of a lively demeanor, a trait of a laughing young girl. How odd it would be now to smile, to smile a real smile, too; not just to express a look that spoke all too well of taunting and of spite.
Everything about her old self had been stopped and struck dead when she had been brought before the Mouth of Sauron. She had defied him, and he had threatened her with death if she did not obey. Young, Arawen had valued life above everything. It had been too precious to give up, even at his price. He had allowed her to keep her life, but it had been at a terrible price. And so she had embarked on her journey into his dark world, inflicting pain at his command; each time she had hurt somebody she had imagined killing the Mouth of Sauron. Pain had become her only outlet. And now she did not recognise who she had become; she knew that she had done some terrible things.
She heard Maethoriel’s voice from behind the door: “Enter, Arawen.” It sounded like an order. Opening the door, Arawen stepped inside the room, and closed it quietly behind her. She raked her empty, cold blue gaze over the room; it was filled with smoke, but that did not bother her. Her gaze came finally to rest upon Maethoriel herself, who was sitting bolt upright on her bed.
Silently, Arawen strolled across the room and pulled up a chair, seating herself. She loosely folded her pale arms and regarded Maethoriel with an expression that revealed nothing. The atmosphere of the woman’s room seemed filled with the very air of Maethoriel, her anger, her hate; yet Arawen met the almost stifling ambiance with her usual impassive, wintry demeanor. In all these years she had spent hours standing at the Mouth of Sauron’s side, listening to his ghastly plans. He was the very meaning of the world evil, and he had never once been able to read Arawen properly.
After all this time, now all she knew was the cold. Feeling nothing. She looked at Maethoriel, and wondered briefly why she should help her. A small pang reminded her that she did not want this death on her hands; yet nothing was betrayed upon her features.
“I won’t waste time with small talk,” she said, finally. “You’re in danger. By the way he has been acting towards you recently, you probably deducted that already. But your danger goes deeper than you know. Someone will be sent for you.”
The word “he” referred to the Mouth, and Arawen’s calm stolidity indicated all too clearly that she herself had been chosen as the assassin.
But this time, she would not follow the rules.
_________________
~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: March 9th, 2010, 8:29 pm |
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Joined: 01 November 2005
Posts: 322
Location: That way. *points left and right*
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(ooc: akc. didn't see the ooc. and yes.. Morwen's history is.. interesting. She's not the most open about it though. remembering includes the past 200 years.)
Morwen glanced over her shoulder and only nodded once. "Yes. That's what he ordered, is it not?" 'He' was said with a particular dislike. She turned her head forward again.
Once in the room, Morwen looked around, her face showing dislike. Being an elf she was a little more attuned to her surroundings, the evil in this room was.. sickening almost. Morwen ran a hand through her hair with a tired sigh, her gaze drawn to the window. she couldn't see much.. but it was enough to remind her of the world she was trapped in.
_________________
Banner and avvie by me
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Post subject: Posted: March 9th, 2010, 11:03 pm |
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Joined: 04 January 2007
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Maethoriel grinned and forced herself not to laugh at the woman's hubris. This child was obviously so confident that she would have been able to carry out the task given to her. The Mouth was trying to rid himself of both of them certainly as another was already being trained in her place. She had seen it before, The Mouth was not so brave as to do much of his own dirty work especially if those he would rid himself of might get in a few cuts. Yes, he would have expected Arawen dead and found a stronger person to take down Maethoriel.
Maethoriel's ability to hold her own amusement which normally displayed itself so vibrantly spoke volumes on the state of her mind. She stood and began pacing without so much as a flash of red from her heel or the end of her cane. For once in a long time Maethoriel was seeing somewhat clearly.
"It is well that you come without bearing arms, girl," she said casually the addition of girl and child always worming her way into her speech for the simple fact that to her there were very few that were not children. What was twenty years to several thousand?
"We find ourselves in a most dire predicament, that you - no doubt - have derived, for the most part. However, if either of us wants out alive there needs to be an understanding...a deal if you would," the woman drawled in a lazy manner as she spun a chair around to face Arawen, straddling it and using the back as a rest for her arms - it could be noted that her cane had seemingly disappeared and the door which was previously askew was closed and locked.
"Would you care for a drink? We might be long in discussion."
_________________ Heavens no. Hell Yeah.Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me
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Post subject: Posted: March 10th, 2010, 9:57 am |
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Joined: 03 June 2006
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Bëor followed Luthien and Morwen, as there weren't any alternative actions to undertake. He carefully glanced around as they went through a maze of corridors and dark passages, which all looked similar. Nothing pointed in any way to an exit and he realised that it would take their plan to a new level, succeeding seemed even less probable to him.
Once the heavy door had shut them into the room of the Mouth of Sauron, the ranger quickly glared around him, restless, but the dreadful servant of Sauron did not seem to be present. Bëor felt slightly nauseated; the absence of the Mouth and once again being trapped in the horrid room, allowed emotions and memories to control him for a moment, eventhough his face was still blank. He glared at the shadows of the room, which concealed its long side. It was almost as if the evil, by some sort of spell, inside this place was tangible. Dark voices seemed to whisper, like there were figures hidden behind the walls. Bëor averted his gaze from the room and looked at the others, trying to get a grip on himself. He still had not said anything to the other women, but nothing had to be said. Nothing could be said to comfort, to caution, or to help in this dark room, for all what could be felt was despair..
_________________
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.
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Post subject: Posted: March 10th, 2010, 3:54 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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(Tehe, Maeth, the dialogue between Maethoriel and Arawen is so interesting! =) I think they’ve both met their match.  Does Maethoriel really mean to make a deal, or is it a trick, like Arawen suspects? ^_^)
Luthien stepped into the Mouth of Sauron’s chambers; as she had guessed, the room was dark and severe in it’s grandeur. An ornately carved black desk and almost throne-like chair took center stage; the desk was scattered with papers, quills and pots of ink. Luthien wondered for a moment what was written on all those sheets of paper, but she remembered that the Mouth was too clever to leave plans of any importance simply left around for anyone to pick up. There was another, smaller desk in a corner which presumably belonged to his clerk, and there was just one window, small, with dark window panes which allowed no light inside the room. Indeed, there was no light in Mordor to let in.
As the door closed behind them, she hovered a little, not knowing what to do. She already hated this room; it carried such a sense of despair and hopelessness. Her hands clenched and unclenched into fists as she looked around blankly.
“So I suppose he wants us to just wait for him?” her question hung in the air as she took a small step away from the door. Her feet felt slow and unwilling. She wasn’t meant to be here. She felt as if she could suffocate by just being in this room.
The Mouth’s arrogance irritated her. He had left them to themselves, but he had left an impact upon all of them. The silence that reigned hinted at a despair that they all felt. It felt unbearable, to Luthien especially; she was a young woman who loved to talk. She had to say something, anything. But yet she could form no more words.
At a loss as to what to do, she approached a small side table, on which sat a jug of fine wine and a few goblets. The scent which hit her was unmistakable. Wine, wine brewed in Gondor, for no brewery of Mordor could have brewed such a drink. It had obviously been stolen during a raid on a Gondorian town, to assist the Mouth’s twisted sense of humour.
A glare took hold of her features. “Curse him,” she said abruptly. “Curse him a hundred times over.”
~~~
Arawen observed Maethoriel as the other woman grinned; obviously something in her words had amused her. Arawen’s own expression remained empty, and she remained silent as the half-elf began to pace around her room with a seriousness that seemed ill-suited to most of what Arawen knew about her; tales of madness, a twisted mind, a cane that summoned magic. Something had obviously caught Maethoriel’s attention for her to appear in such deep consideration. When she finally spoke, Arawen shrugged her slim shoulders.
“Perhaps,” she said, reading Maethoriel’s indication that had Arawen attempted her assassination, she would have failed, clearly enough. “I was never going to carry out the task. He believes that he can order anything he likes, and it will be done…” she idly clicked her fingers, “…just like that. I did not know who to pity when he ordered it to be done, him or you. He fears you, Maethoriel – or rather, he fears what you might do. He will not say it but he knows danger when he sees it.” She rose from her chair, listening to Maethoriel’s words without glancing at her.
She walked a little way around the room, her footsteps slow, seeming to assess Maethoriel’s room and possessions; she ran a hand over the frame of the window, and turned her head, noting that the door was now locked. She gave Maethoriel a half-smile.
“Yes, he meant to set us against each other,” she said. Still her tone remained empty, as if the words she spoke were of no importance. She knew the Mouth and his whims. He would have found it amusing to see Maethoriel, the woman who was on no one’s side and refused to choose, or Arawen, his disloyal but efficient servant, either one of them, dead on the floor. Perhaps he might even have placed a bet on who would win. Maethoriel did not know Arawen well enough to guess the outcome; she had not properly assessed her strengths. To her, she was but a mortal child, easy enough to throw aside as no challenge whatsoever. But it would have ended up a blood-soaked fight. The Mouth would probably have liked it if both of them had ended up dead.
“A deal,” Arawen repeated, turning properly to face Maethoriel. She tilted her head slightly as if to muse over that suggestion. “Name what kind of proposition you have in mind.” She had agreed to nothing as yet. There were several ways that this could end.
She shook her head, very slightly, at Maethoriel’s offer of a drink. “No thank you,” she replied, graciously enough. “I do not find myself thirsty.”
Arawen’s smile widened as she leant against the wall, not slumping, but retaining her usual poise. Her gaze remained almost chilling in it’s frosty blue emptiness. Briefly, she wondered if Maethoriel thought she was stupid. Arawen may have been a child in comparison to Maethoriel’s immortality, but there was more to her than met the eye, more, even, than the glacial manner than hinted at ferocity. Below the surface, behind the disarming blue gaze, behind the half-taunting smile, lay a sharp mind and intuition. She may have came here out of pity, a pity that had swiftly been dropped from her mind, but it had not indicated any kind of trust.
_________________
~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: March 10th, 2010, 5:26 pm |
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Joined: 03 June 2006
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Bëor had followed Luthien with his eyes. She looked terrified yet he was not sure if she had any second thoughts for her plan. "Whatever you're thinking... just stop" Bëor said intently, hoping he could break through Luthien's strong facade of stubborness. "Stop thinking, stop hating. For he's able to read every emotion, every part of your soul."
The ranger brushed with his hand through his long hair and shivered, not of distress but of cold. There was no fire burning in the hearth of the dark room and in some way, the exercise of walking had not warmed him up. Bëor glanced at Morwen and wondered what her part was in this. Had she merely been a servant, who was to obey every task, or a tool in more evil designs? She would not tell.. neither would he know the truth by waiting, yet it was all they could do.
Waiting for the Mouth's dark schemes seemed even more cruel than witnessing them, but then, the vile creature inhabiting that very room had made it into a sport to play mind games.
_________________
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.
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Post subject: Posted: March 10th, 2010, 10:27 pm |
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Joined: 04 January 2007
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(It's safe to say that it's not a trick. But Maeth tends to be in it for herself no matter what. So if things head south she'll be the first to defect)
The woman's pride was not an easy thing to get past for most. It was what most would say overblown and...perhaps they were right. But in the days of old before madness took hold every shred of pride Maethoriel retained was well earned. She smirked as Arawen spoke of the Mouth's fear of her. Most of those who immersed themselves in old lore and stories of wizardry would well understand why. Though those not so well versed in it would be hard pressed to understand the fear of so small a woman with such a tenuous grasp on her own mind.
The woman had potential to be a leader, but opted for a different road considering leaders had an awfully short life span. They made too many enemies for her tastes.
"It is well he should worry. Probably scared that I should challenge him for his seat, but Sauron," she used the black name freely with a questionable ease; "knew well enough that it would not quite be my sort of work. Too much diplomacy," she said dryly.
The woman's mind returned to the track from which the entire conversation started from. A deal. Namo help her that it was necessary. "Yes, of the simplest sort you see," the woman said with a nod. "In Mordor everyone sees what they would like to and in such cases as this they do not usually pick the easier idea to follow. We should be gone before any had a clue of what we were up to. I help you escape with a few tricks of my trade and assist you in returning to your beloved city, but you have to help the others out because they will be necessary in the end. The lands outside Mordor and the smaller trails inside are well known to me. Once we are out we can depart and never speak of it again."
_________________ Heavens no. Hell Yeah.Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me
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Post subject: Posted: March 11th, 2010, 6:10 am |
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Joined: 03 June 2006
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[ Now I'm too curious why Mae might want to help the others out. I'm kinda intrigued by the new Maethoriel, though I liked the mad version of her.  Beör is so not going to trust or follow her. ] _________________
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.
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Post subject: Posted: March 11th, 2010, 8:59 am |
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Joined: 01 November 2005
Posts: 322
Location: That way. *points left and right*
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Morwen looked at the two, and she studied them for a long minute, "He likely already is aware of her anger." She turned her eyes back to the black window, "he'll address it when he so sees fit to do so." She closed her eyes and left out a slow breath, it was difficult to be here again.. and interact with people again, mot of all.
"Escape form here is... next to impossible." She then said softly, "50 years of trying gave me plenty of time to figure that out." She looked towards Luthien, "In the time that I've been here.. every new captive, every new soul that is brought into this place ends up one of three ways. Like Arawen, bent to Sauron's will, like Beor and myself, without hope, but having our spirits... or like the countless others I've seen... dead. The more one fights..." she looked back towards the window, "the less likely it is you will be able to keep your spirit... or your life."
Her defenses fell as she stared out the window, revealing a fairly young elf who had been here far longer than was healthy. Pain was obvious in her eyes and also.. sadness. She did not want Luthien to turn out like Arawen.. or dead.
"What are your names, young ones?" She spoke to both now. But even her voice was different, with the shields gone. It was soft and quiet, and would invoke memories of... happier times.
_________________
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Post subject: Posted: March 11th, 2010, 1:23 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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(Eeeee, this is getting exciting!  Arawen has guessed that Maethoriel is in it for her own reasons, and she’s not yet convinced. Also, like Bëor, I don’t think that Luthien will follow or trust Maethoriel either. )
Luthien turned, hearing Bëor’s words. For a moment her features were utterly blank; not mask like and smoothed over, but like fresh new snow, as yet unmarked by anything. As she looked at him, in that moment she looked so innocent that it was positively unsettling. But then the moment passed, and her lips twisted into a bitter smile. The bitterness seemed an ill fit for her, a talkative, bright, vibrant young woman with so many hopes. She shrugged and wiped her bleeding lip with the edge of one of the velvet sleeves of her gown. “You don’t need to lecture me,” she said quietly. “I should know how things are well enough by now.”
She listened to Morwen, her head turned away from both of the other people in the room. She was sick of listening to speeches about it being useless to fight back. Sick of hearing how the only way you kept your spirit and your resistance was to give up. As far as Luthien was concerned, giving up would crush her spirit. As Morwen mentioned the impossibility of escape, she wondered how the elf had touched on the very center of the situation so precisely. She wondered if every prisoner who was brought here had planned escape, had thought about it obsessively, as Luthien did now. With a heartbeat she knew: of course they did. What else could they do? But no one had ever escaped, it seemed. Each and every one of the prisoners to be locked up in this awful place had had to give up their thoughts of ever being free again.
A few moments passed. Luthien stayed with her back turned to the others; she was thinking. She looked at the blood on the edge of her sleeve, the red staining the pale yellow fabric. The conversations in the cells between her and Bëor seemed a long way away now. Luthien felt as if everything she had planned was being trampled upon. Slowly, she turned around.
She knew the good sense in their words. It was obvious, the easy way to stay alive and go unnoticed. Give up. Just give up and stay quiet, and somehow keep your spirit thriving strong within you without hope. But to Luthien, hopelessness didn’t seem like an option; she didn’t even want to consider it. For as long as she had lived she had nurtured hope like one of the many flowers that grew back home in her garden in Minas Tirith. She had been brought up to never stop hoping.
And yet she did not say anything of this to them, because she knew how they would reply. And the more she listened the more it made her hurt inside; she knew that now, here, her plan seemed just like a dream, conjured up out of smoke – easy enough to disperse. She wanted to hang on to it.
“Luthien,” she replied to Morwen’s question about their names. “My name is Luthien.” The tiny smile she gave the elf was a proper smile, although small; the light in her eyes had not been knocked out of her yet, despite the events of this day. “You are of the elven folk; you know the Lay of Luthien? The tale of the elven maiden and Beren? I was named after her.”
~~~
Arawen laughed out loud, a genuine laugh, at the thought of Maethoriel in the Mouth of Sauron’s place. It was hard to imagine the half-elf sitting in the Mouth’s ornate black chair, resplendent with carvings, her boots up on his desk, scattering the papers to the floor. She could not imagine Maethoriel in such a place of power; she had no ability to inspire trust, certainly. Any servant of hers would find themselves doubtful of her leadership, unsure of where her loyalties, if any, lay. “I don’t doubt it,” she commented. “Diplomacy does not seem to be your area of expertise.”
Listening to Maethoriel continue, Arawen’s mind ran through the woman’s words quickly, but did not race. It never did to rush. She stayed where she was, her arms elegantly folded. Her expression remained hard and unmoved. Could she really mean this? Did she really intend to carry through with what she was proposing, and proposing to Arawen, of all people?
Arawen’s first thought of this idea was that it was madness. Sheer madness. No one escaped from Mordor, however skilled they were in navigation and reading maps. The darkness in this land was a cage, encaging them all, allowing no exit. To try to break through meant death.
She glanced at the woman as she referred to Arawen’s “beloved city” – undoubtedly a reference to Minas Tirith. Although on the outside she looked as indifferent as she always did, she felt as if she had just been hit. How could Maethoriel dare to presume what was and what wasn't "beloved" to her? Minas Tirith; she had not called it or considered it home for so long. It seemed like a distant memory, a blaze of white and silver that had faded in it’s bright light in the duration of these dark years. She had loved it once. She had been so happy there, with her family, with her friends. Arawen had been brought up to be a noblewoman, taught all the manners and ways of a lady of the court. They had intended her to marry well; no doubt they had lined up a suitor for her.
Then it had all ended. Cut off. Gone.
However it seemed to others, Arawen had never given in to the will of the Mouth, nor his master. Whatever she had done, whatever orders she had carried out… her heart and her mind had remained untouchable, chained up out of reach, belonging to no one. Perhaps not even herself.
What would it be like to return to her old life? It would never be the same again. So much had happened to her; she could not be that same smiling, carefree girl she had once been. Maethoriel’s words had broken into Arawen’s old memories, made her consider old hopes that had long since withered and died.
Arawen took one small step towards Maethoriel.
“What you are suggesting is no simple matter,” she said shortly. “I wonder why you suggest this to me; why you should trust me with your words. This is some plan to serve you and no one else; you may have your means, your tricks of the trade, but they would serve you and you alone. Death follows all who dwell in Mordor, and if anyone caught the scent of this talk you would be away in an instant.” Shaking her head slightly, she turned, her expression one of stone.
If she joined Maethoriel in this and it all came crashing to the ground, then it most likely wouldn’t be Maethoriel who would carry the weight of the punishment. Arawen knew without a doubt that the half-elf would do this for herself.
She also knew that Maethoriel needed Arawen. Arawen kept the keys to the prison blocks of Mordor, she was entrusted with the prisoners. It was one of her biggest responsibilities.
When she turned back to look at the other woman, the smile that crossed her face carried no light. “As you may have guessed, you have not wholly convinced me of the efficiency of your plan,” she said. “It seems to me ever so slightly unstructured. I wonder how you might convince me.”
Arawen wondered idly if Maethoriel trusted her. At any time she could go to the Mouth and inform him of Maethoriel’s plan. And yet she felt no wish to.
Maybe this was the first step after all.
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~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: March 11th, 2010, 3:14 pm |
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Joined: 03 June 2006
Posts: 5673
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"As you wish.." Bëor softly spoke and he averted his gaze. Somewhow he felt hurt by Luthien's reproach. She'd turned away from them, almost as if angry from the words he spoke. He had just wanted to help her, to maker her understand, to prevent her from being hurt... But at his first step of only attempting to be friendly, she seemed to have pushed him away. The Ranger realised that he'd broken one of his own rules, never to care. For those he would care about either turn away from him or die. By caring he would only hurt himself.
Beör looked up at the Elf, his face still emotionless. "You already seem to know my name, yet I've never learnt yours."
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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.
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Post subject: Posted: March 11th, 2010, 7:01 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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(Can’t resist making another small post Luthien doesn’t want Bëor to think she’s pushing him away! Awww ^_^)
Instantly, Luthien felt an odd rush of guilt as she heard Bëor’s quiet reply. He had only been trying to help, she realised. She could see how the way she had turned her back on both him and Morwen whilst she had been thinking could have looked a lot like hostility. Hesitating slightly, she hovered beside the small table with the wine jug, before making a decision. As Bëor replied to the elven woman, she crossed the room to stand by them. The last thing she wanted was to appear unfriendly, being such a normally sociable person. She tugged gently at Bëor’s sleeve and whispered, “I’m sorry. I know you meant well.” She offered a small smile, as good a smile as she could manage in the dark situation they found themselves in, and hoped that her gesture would let him know that her offer of friendship back in the cells had not been withdrawn.
Turning her attention back towards Morwen, remaining at the ranger’s side, she wondered briefly what kind of life Morwen had left behind. She had heard so many tales about elves, the immortal folk; magical beings who lived in far away havens beyond the reach of the mortal.
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~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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