his exception

chapter twenty-five: dol guldur

 In the darkest corner of Dol Guldur, a shrill voice cried out in endless pain. The victim's agonized screams echoed throughout the darkness; such sweet delight to the ears of her oppressor! The piercing cries belong to none other than Maethel Thranduiliel. Her chain-burned wrists were tightly tied down to a large, pillar. Upon her  back were numerous, crisscrossed lashes stretched in all directions, raw and bleeding!

"AHHHH!" cried Maethel; as the merciless whip tore into her pale, crimson-streaked flesh! She squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape, but could not break free from her bonds. The agonizing sting burned into her like hot fire! Never had she known such pain.

"Mani naa essa en lle?" the orc sneered as he threw her onto the ground of Dol Guldur. (what is your name?) Maethel didn't answer and she was beaten by a club belonging to another orc which had made its way towards her. Whimpering in pain a single tear escaped from her colour draining eyes. "Where is Thorin Oakenshield? She-elf." The new orc shouted in her face and the first orc sneered at her. "Please, please don't, no more," Maethel pleaded, tugging again at the bonds holding her arms out to her sides from where she dangled.  They had bound her arms behind her so she could not move or escape.

"Speak, elf!" roared the orc. His blood-red eyes glared at his tiny victim with boiling hatred.

 Every molecule of her body had told her that it was not manly or elf like to scream, told her that pride dictated that she stay silent.  Long, bloody and bruised cuts all across her back and shoulders showed what happened to those who tried to resist Dol Guldur. Slumping, utterly defeated, Maethel prayed to a God she did not believe in for a quick death. "Where is the prisoner, Oguk?" Shurkul demanded as he picked up his club. As Oguk noticed this he immediately answered by pointing to where Maethel was, hanging to life by a thin string. Shurkul began to walk closer to Maethel. The temporary escape only made her continued torture worse.

"Tell us what you know about the whereabouts of Thorin Oakenshield." Shurkul commanded as Maethel shook her head. " What do you know about Thorin Oakenshield?" The orc captain ordered again. "Ishkh khakfe andu null. You and all your kin" Maethel sneered repeating what Thorin had told her back in the cells of her then home. The orc chuckled. "So you can speak," he said. Westron sounds wrong on his tongue, like a dirty language. "Keep your insults to yourself, elf" 

Maethel bared her teeth and growled.

 Maethel Thranduiliel then shrieked in agony, making sounds she never knew she was capable of making. As they sliced, and cut and beat her, her world flickering too black, she thought that perhaps leaving well enough alone was the most foolish, shameful thing she had ever done in her life. Turns out that reason was a fact, and one that, for once in her life, she didn't want to know. In only a matter of days her world had turned upside down and inside out. She didn't want to waste her breaths. Maethel's throat was raw, and her face was stained with tears and it took all she had in her to not try and shy away up against the back on her cage. "Speak now, elf!" he growled in anger. "Where is Thorin Oakenshield?"

"Fuck you," Maethel hissed, "You'll get nothing out of me."

Maethel felt herself screaming for them to stop, but she couldn't stop herself. All she knew that she was opening her mouth. She shouted a chorus of 'stop' and 'please' and the occasional 'don't hurt me.' Maethel gave no answer, but only whimpered and moaned instead. Her bright, blue eyes filled with watery tears, yet she would not give in to her tormentor. The relentless orc delivered several more lashes, and in reply received several more screams. "What do you know of Thorin? Talk!" There was still no answer. The orc was more furious and stumped than ever! He could not determine if the Elven Princess was being stubbornly resistant, or just simply too weakened by the interrogation to cooperate. Either way, the menacing creature was quickly losing his patience. The ominous hissing and cracking of the whip--followed by Maethel's shrill cries--continued for another hour, until finally, the frustrated orc gave up and decided to take a rest. He coiled up the leather whip in his brawny, goblin-like hands and glared at his sobbing victim.

Suddenly, there was silence...a dead, eerie silence. Maethel found herself alone at last; though she knew in her heart the orc would not be gone for long. Fresh blood seeped from her open wounds, dribbling down her chest. Her frail body trembled. She was left confused, in pain and alone looking for brighter days. But those brighter days never came.

Hours go by, and Maethel whiles away the time thinking of home, of her family, of anything but where she is now. She fought  to keep her thoughts away from the fight. It has been a week now since the ambush that separated her from her friends back in Lake-Town. She cried quietly as shadows fell over her cell, drying her face as well as she can before the orcs come for her again. And then they come. She will not go voluntarily, even if they beat her. Let them—she deserves it at this point, and it will delay the real torture for a little longer. She will gladly take torn flesh and broken bones over one more innocent life on her conscience.

"Get up!" calls a grating orcish voice. "Get up, scum! Give us another show!"

"Amin delotha lle!"Maethel spat back. (I hate you)