Fan Fiction ❯ Body and Spirit ❯ Chapter 1

Body and Spirit

Celebrîan bit her lips till they bled to keep herself from sobbing in terror as she was dragged bodily along the dank filthy corridor. Her hands were bound viciously behind her back, the ropes cutting into her flesh. On either side of her a hellish captor crushed her upper arm in his hateful hand. Her bare feet stumbled and scraped through the unspeakable detritus of the floor.

They stopped outside a heavy iron door, and pushing it open with a bone-grating groan, they thrust her inside. She lurched and fell, cutting her cheek against the rough stone. The door was dragged shut, and the iron scrape of a key blocked any further sound from outside.

The cell was dark, not a glimmer of light pierced the blackness. She shuffled backwards along the floor until she reached a wall, then slumped against it, no longer able to control her weeping.

They were dead, all of them, and it was her fault. She sobbed aloud, `Oh Elrond, I am sorry. I should have listened to you. You were right, as always.'

She had wanted so much to visit Lórien, and see her parents. Elrond had forbidden the journey, claiming it was too dangerous. Refusing to heed him, she waited until he was away from home before setting off. Her body racked with grief. All the elves that she had commanded to accompany her were dead. Not one was left alive, not one to go for help, not one to tell her husband where she was. How long would it be before he discovered she had not made it to Lórien? How long before he came for her?

`I do not deserve rescue', she thought bitterly. `I deserve to suffer and die in this place.' A black hopelessness surged over her, and she let her tears flow unrestrained.

She did not know how long she sat in sorrow but after a time she became conscious of a tight discomfort. She needed to relieve herself. Pushing herself upright against the wall, she slowly felt her way around the walls. The cell was small, no more than six feet in any direction. It was entirely bare. No sleeping pallet, no bucket, not even a drain in the floor. Dismay rolled over her as her need pressed more urgently. Must she use the floor?

A loud noise flooded her blood with fear, and she forgot her dilemma. She pressed back against the wall as the door in front of her scraped open. The light of the lantern dazzled her and she turned her head away, tears springing to her eyes.

"Well, well." A voice rasped unpleasantly. "What a fine catch my boys have brought me."

The door was slammed shut, and heavy steps approached.

She clenched her eyes shut, not daring to look.

"Come, my pretty one." Mocking now, "Do you not wish to see what Marlûk has brought you?"

Slowly she opened her lids. He was grotesque in the flickering light. Short and swart, skin pocked and warty, green eyes squint and leering, his foul mouth filled with yellow fangs.

A cry of despair burst from her and she closed her eyes again, tears leaking from beneath the lids.

He laughed. A hideous rumble. "If that's how you feel, I shall just take them away again."

She risked another look. He carried a coarse, dark loaf under one arm, and two buckets in one twisted hand. One filled with water, the other empty.

Her forgotten need returned with a vengeance, burning in her.

"No." she had spoken before she realised it.

"Oh." He sneered, "My beauty deigns to speak." He hefted the full bucket, "Perhaps she is thirsty?"

She shook her head, wordlessly.

"Ahhh." He grinned evilly and lifted the empty bucket.

She looked away in shame, while down below the pain become unbearable. She would not hold it more than another few minutes.

He set the pot on the floor and stepped back, holding out a hand in invitation.

`No!' she thought. `I'd rather die!' But unfortunately that wasn't the choice. She could use the bucket or soil herself.

She used a foot to drag it over, then positioning herself over it, she managed to lift her gown and squat without revealing herself. Immediately the noisy release of hot fluid caused her cheeks to burn. There was no sound from her captor and she kept her eyes lowered, afraid of what she might see if she lifted them.

Marlûk looked on in fascination. She was truly beautiful. Her face flawless and carved, the silver hair cascading over her shoulders. Her shame excited him as he watched her, her lips parting slightly with relief as she finished. Perhaps even her husband had never seen this intimate picture. Inwardly he felt a heady anticipation, they would be in this den for many days to come, he would have plenty of time to enjoy her. He could take things slowly, it was better that way. He allowed himself a small moment to savour the thought of what her naked skin would look like, feel like. How her beautiful hair would be against his dark skin. He felt himself stir and pushed the thoughts aside. Not yet. She would be too resistant the first day. Better to wait. Let her ripen and soften in the dark.