Eglan (Forsaken)

Title: Eglan (Forsaken) CT4
Author: Iamme & Belle Bayard
Type: FPGen
Cast: Haldir
Rating: R
Disclaimer: It’s not mine it belongs to Tolkien and Dumas.
Warnings: Mention of character death, and possibly actual character death later on (not Hal) angst, mental anguish, wrongful imprisonment, and lashings. Not Canon!!!
Beta:Alex
Summary: Haldir finds himself wrongfully accused and imprisoned for an Elf’s murder. Based loosely on Alexander Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo
Author's Notes: This is a story also based loosely on a RP I have done with both Mirasaui and Hockeygrl. Also thank you to Belle Bayard for the title.

Haldir awoke to darkness, unable to move his aching body. He felt fuzzyheaded and wondered if he had unknowingly ingested some sort of drug. He felt as ill as if he had partaken of a particularly foul liquor. Something he imagined Orcs might brew. His mouth, dry and tasting of copper, made him desperate for water. The gag bit into his mouth, making his jaw ache. The hoof beats made his head’s throbbing worse and he longed for it to stop. Yet it continued, relentlessly.
Slowly, the drugs began to abate and with the return of full consciousness, Haldir grew frantic in the tight enclosure. At last, he could take no more. He thrashed violently, nearly upsetting the box. Outside, the Men on the wagon steadied the container, one removing the lid to allow him to stand up and gasp in fresh air. Though hands held him in place, preventing him fleeing, they had stopped the horses and removed his gag. One of the Men placed a water skin to Haldir’s lip and he drank deeply of the strange tasting water. They allowed him to rest against the crate, pressing some dry bread into his hands. Haldir’s undernourishment made him ignore the taste and eat what they offered. Hard and chewy, it must have been days old. It did not fill him, only took the sharpest edges from his hunger.
Haldir no sooner finished the bread then his head grew heavy and his vision blurry. Once more, they had drugged him. Though he tried to shake off the effect, he could not and he slipped into unconsciousness again.
The next time Haldir awoke, rain drenched him, though the Men watched him from beneath waterproof canvas shelters. The meat they cooked made his stomach growl in protest. He had no way of knowing their location or how long they had traveled. Yet, instinctively he knew they no longer traversed Imladris lands. That meant he had spent the better part of at least three days or more, sleeping. How much more could he endure? He had to find a way to escape and find his brothers. Yet, what good would that do? How would he get close to them? One of the Men stood and approached, a piece of food in his hand. As empty as his stomach felt, he still did not wish to return to his drugged state. The Man approached cautiously, watching Haldir with suspicion. If he had not felt so miserable, Haldir could have laughed. From his few dealings with humans, he knew they considered Elves crafty and dangerous. The expression on the Man’s rough face spoke volumes to Haldir about this one’s particular beliefs and that they would not give him any but absolutely necessary freedoms.
When Haldir did nothing threatening, the Man held the piece of meat to the Elf’s lips. Resolutely, the former Marchwarden turned away with a scowl.
“Come on now. You cannot make this journey without food,” the Man cajoled.
Haldir just shook his head once more and the Man sighed. “We can force you. You know that. I have no wish to resort to such measures, but I cannot have you die on us. You will eat, or one of my men will chew it up, then stuff it down your throat.”
Haldir could not repress the shudder of loathing that rippled through him. He glared at the Man, but nodded. “Eat a piece first. I tire of laying drugged while you do what you wish with me.”
The Man gave a bark of laughter, though it held little humor. “You have little choice in the matter, Elf. However, I can vouch that this contains nothing more than what you see here.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Now what we give you to drink…”
Haldir grimaced. “What if I give you my word I will not try to escape?”
That brought peals of laughter from all those within hearing and the leader, or at least Haldir believed him such, shook his head. “Now what kind of fool do you take me for? I will give you this though. The food we will not drug, but what you drink will contain the sleeping draught.”
Desperation clutched at Haldir, for he could see no way to avoid his wretched condition. Food, he could do without for several days. Water, he could not. He shifted against his bonds. “I must relieve myself,” he ground out, humiliated that such basic needs he must ask permission of these ruffians to perform.
The leader nodded to several of the burliest men in his group. They surrounded him as the leader undid Haldir’s bonds, and then gripped him tightly when he struggled to stand. Enforced inactivity, poor food, and the despair that threatened to overwhelm him all worked against the Lorien Elf. He stumbled to the edge of the clearing, his face set as one of the Men loosened his legging’s laces and lowered them to his knees. In some ways, his luck held, for none made lewd comments or laughed. They allowed him enough freedom of his arms to do what he must and cover himself, but his hatred and anger mingled with humiliation as well.
The drugged water almost seemed welcome when he finished eating. Before sleep overcame him again, they had him up and in the box once more. He curled into a tight ball, wincing with each jolt of the wagon wheels over the ruts in the forest road. Darkness took him and this time he did not fight.
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The days fell into a pattern and Haldir lost count of them. The group traveled all odd hours, resting during the day at times, and then camping at nightfall others. He grew thin and even paler than his natural Elven complexion. His once immaculate hair hung in greasy strings, knotted and tangled. The rough clothing stank of sweat and fear and his eyes burned within his wan face as if the only light left within him.
One day the wagon stopped and Haldir heard strange voices hailing outside. He shifted against the crate, trying to find a tiny crack to peer through. To his surprise, the lid to his prison opened and the leader’s face peered down at him. Haldir squinted against the bright light.
“Out you go. We’ve nearly arrived at our destination. Best to let you do your business before we drop you off and go on our way,” the ruffian told him.
Haldir slowly pushed himself from the box’s floor, leaning heavily against the side as nausea threatened. Wearily, he allowed them to help him out and onto the ground. He stood, weaving a bit on weakened legs.
The leader clapped a hand on his shoulder as two of the group bound Haldir’s hands. “There’s your new home. You won’t be seeing this view again so we thought you should get one before we took you inside.”
With no little dread, Haldir followed the Man’s pointing finger. A stark and barren castle stood alone on the other side of a huge expanse of gray-blue water, waves foaming on the shore. From its isolated position, it appeared only boats could reach the place. Tiny slits indicated windows high in the building that stood upon an isolated island. The closer Haldir looked, the more he grew desolate. For no other features could he see except the sea and the tomb before him. Just whom this place secured remained questionable and all hope fled him. His jailors led him to a small rowboat and once seated, the last leg of his journey began. The Men, watching on the shore, became Haldir’s last view of the world before he disappeared into darkened cave at the very base of the rocks.