A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~Five~

The lady in chains had stopped struggling. For days upon days, she had buckled and thrashed, shaking the silver bindings winding tautly around her wrists and feet like vicious steel vines. Her screaming had stopped and her head hung limply, yet her eyes gleamed still in terrible rage. The man in the robe saw this and stretched a smile.

"It would be a falsehood to say there has been a slight . . . uproar in your House since you departed," he began coldly. The woman did not lift her head. "What a shame," he continued, "your so-called people know nothing of your whereabouts. One might think it would be obvious."

No open reaction was made by the woman, but it seemed for a moment her being swelled defiantly. But the man saw through this, he sensed the streaks of dark silver seeded in the roots of her once-shimmering golden hair, the faint but planted shadow growing in her face. "You find it . . . surprising, do you not, that a Vala can be imprisoned by a mere underling, yet in your future you store no dread," drawled the man. As his prisoner remained unresponsive, a raging fire seeded in the man's eyes. "You think Manwë could seal my powers, lock me away in the land of mortals?" he spat. "No. I have only become more mighty. And I will prove this again." In a slightly calmer voice he added, "and for this you will be my assistant. Or will I have to go to Nessa instead?"

The woman cackled, her head only lifting slightly, haughtily, to register him. "Your master, and his master before him, could never ensure her control. You cannot trap her in your lair," she hissed.

"Why so insistent, now?" The man sneered. "I believe this behavior is rather unlike you. You were always so predictable, meek and laughing--"

His frigid trail of speech was cut off as the woman screeched, an ear-splitting, blasting single note of song. The man fixed his staff firmly to the floor, but the orc servant behind him yelped in pain, smacking his claws over his jagged ears. Scoffing, the man stepped around the creature's body, and left the room in shadow. It seemed they would need more time before the operation.

~

Caranthir had never heard of this "Amon Sûl." As the geography of Arda had changed drastically over the ages, he assumed he'd been gone for at least four thousand, maybe even five thousand years and perhaps missed a war of the Valar; there were several various bays and seas that surely could not have been formed naturally. This was disturbing, as even after a war of the Valar, the great Enemy still plagued the land. Was there any force capable of ridding Arda of the shadow?

Traveling had become unimaginably easier; even though he used the "sleep recipe" (this was what his substitute phrase for drug) without the "infamous extra plant" (which according to Strider "shouldn't make much difference by now"), he rested soundly, and awoke energized. Yet his father's Jewel continued to haunt him. It was always on his mind, that same irritable thing sailing smoothly across the skies each night, tainting his existence and that of the stars above. Caranthir realized after a point he was beginning to prefer the Halls. In the dusky haze of death, release had been a hidden blessing. Yet, for some mystery, he seemed unready to go back.

As they progressed, the land tilted uphill, a sure sign of the nearby hill. With this the hobbits strode with a sudden vigor, and Merry and Pippin lagged behind no longer. Even grim Strider (No, Caranthir did not fall under that category, if he had been called the Dark why would that make him grim?) seemed to tingle with something, whether apprehension or excitement Caranthir was unsure.

Shortly before nightfall they found their way to the hill, a great looming shadow crowned at the top by a simple, tumbled stone ring. Caranthir once again felt disturbed, as he was surely older than both the hill and the ruins. He chuckled softly about this as they began to climb.