Companion of Darkness

Several months later....

She stood upon the brink. The Queen of all. The wife of the darklord. The one who had retrieved for him his most prized possesion. Yet something wasn't right, something nagged at the back of her head. It seemed at itch, yet she could find no way to scratch it sufficiently. She stared down at the pale figure beneath her, wondering at his weakness. Yet the itch increased every time he was near. Him, and the other. The one she recognized as her once-Father.

She pulled her hands through the prisoner's dark, greasy hair. "What is it you meant to me?" she demanded darkly.

He simply stared at her, eyes empty. She jerked upon the chains that bound his hands together behind his back, painfully wrenching his shoulders. "Why do I feel /this/ when I see you? What do you know?" She shouted at him, putting enough anger in her words to show that she wanted an answer now.

"You do not wish to know. You would not like the answer," the man's voice was scratchy, dry from lack of fluids. She had been starving him and dehydrating him for almost two days now. Nothing else had seemed to work. At the side of her Master and husband she had learned the arts of breaking a being. Be it hobbit, man, elf or dwarf. She understood the principles. Yet he was resilient as ever.

"I do wish, mortal. And I wish to know now." She stared at him, using her eyes to promise more pain upon the lack of an answer.

"If you wished to know, beloved, you would." He stared at her sadly, as though with pity.

"You will tell me what I wish, and you will not use /that/ language in my presence," she spat, slapping his face with her considerable strength. "When all other methods have failed, I am forced to extremes," she informed him.

"Frodo!" she yelled, smiling at the cowed creature who shuffled into the room.

"Yes, Mistress?" he asked defeatedly, avoiding the man in the front of her.

"You have served me well, from the beginning. Yet, recently you have seemed distant. Perhaps your time of usefulness has come to an end."

"Yes, Mistress," he answered, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

She laughed softly at his reaction and turned towards the man. "Will you tell me what I wish to know? Will you tell me why I feel this way upon seeing you? Or will the hobbit breath his last breaths? I place this decision in your hands."

"It is not in mine, but in yours, Arwen. It has been since the evening you took the ring from Frodo."

She hed hed then, musically and loudly. "I took nothing. It was gifted to me, was it not?"

"Yes, Mistress," Frodo answered staring at the stone floor, voice racked with guilt.

The man loooked up at her. "You loved yourself, Arwen. Beloved. You respected yourself and were all that is good and light. You were beautiful and kind. You loved the trees and the stars. You had no speck of cruelty within your being. That is the answer you seek. I remind you of this, I remind you of a time when you were free."

"So be it, man. Though I will not kill him. He seems to long for death." Arwen walked over to the hobbit and stared down at him for a long moment. She grabbed his hair roughly and lifted him cruelly, taking obviously delight in the scream it produced. She flung the being almost effortly against the wall, taking comfort in the crack and thud.

"You will not tell me. And what you do say is but gibberish. You will wish soon that you had simply cooperate
H
He looked at her sadly, hair falling in his face. "Take the hobbit and go! If he dies, so will another. Take him to the elf that heals." She spoke of her Father with digust and paced out of the room. Perhaps her Lord could give her comfort.


{{{{{}}}}}

Aaragorn lifted his weakening body with considerable effort. The chains binding his hands behind his back, and his ankles together hindered him greatly and the sorrow in his heart made the effort seem pointless. Yet, he would not leave Frodo to die, as much as the young hobbit might be wishing him to.

He tried to get enough saliva to swallow, to wet his parched throat. It had been two days since he had last had a drop to drink and he was anxious to leave these chambers. "Frodo?" he whispered, painfully walking towards the limp form.

"Frodo Bag, if, if I had the strength to carry you, I still could not. Do not give up. I do not blame you."

A groan from the hobbit reassured him slightly. "Come, Frodo."

"Strider. I'm sorry," the hobbit gasped, raising to his knees. The man grimaced at the blood trailing down his friends face.

"Frodo, you have nothing to apologize for. We need to go. Before she returns and locks us in, again." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.The hobbit didn't reply, but stood, slowly holding his head.

Aaragorn followed Frodo as he limped out of the large stone chambers. He wished for light to assault his eyes, but was greeted only with darkness. The darkness seemed eternal, never ending never beginning, simply there always. He tried to push thoughts of despair into the back of his mind. He needed to get Frodo to Elrond.

>>> She glowed still, especially eyes. Elrond stared at her, as she chatted jovially and sighed unhappily. "I know what you have done," he said simply, unable to bear her pretense of normalcy any longer.

"I see," she answered, "I suppose I can no longer leave you to your own devices, Father." As though she had been prepared for such an eventuality Arwen pulled out two sets of iron chains, clasping one set about his wrists and the other about his ankles. He remained still, allowing her actions with a quiet dignity, and an ache growing inside his heart.

He closed his eyes briefly and whispered, "Elbereth, see us
through this."

"One more thing, Father," she spoke to him in the Black Speech of Mordor, causing him to wince in phsyical emotional shock. "Let us speak that accursed tongue, no longer." She slapped him, hard across the face with all of the strength of her upbringing. He said nothing, and stared at her as unemotionally as possible.

"As I was saying, before I was interrupted, a man came to see you today. He spoke of a vision and Isildur's bane. I was going to lead you to believe he waited for you, but, plans have been slightly altered. His name was Boromir. Boromir of Gondor. I killed him. I snapped his neck into pieces with my hands."

Elrond sat silently, still staring, refusing to respond.

"No you wouldn't become rash, like the ranger, would you? You will staythesthese rooms, your rooms, so consider yourself blessed. If I think you should be fed, I shall send you food. And if someone who is hurt comes to you, you will help them." She turned and walked briskly from the room, closing the door ominously behind her. Locking it with chains from the outside.


A cry from Frodo pulled the Halfelven Lord from his thoughts. Frodo's blue eyes stared at him trustingly, but filled with pain and grief. "Where is Strider?" he whispered quietly, frantically searching Elrond's rooms.

"He was called away." Elrond tried to keep his tone neutral, and was distressed at the amount of disgust that crept into his voice.

"Oh," Frodo closed his shimmering eyes, forcing several tears to slide down his cheeks. "Merry? Pippin? Sam?" he asked, trying to stifle a sob.

"As far as I know, alive in Bilbo's old rooms. So long as you do as she wishes," he whispered sadly.

"I do not know how much I can endure," the hobbit whispered weakly.

"Nor do I Frodo Baggins. Though we all will, as long as we are able."