One Shots!

The Torture of Imprisonment

Luriel sat in her cage, it had been a month since she had been thrown in there. She was filthy, hungry and alone. Her only company were the orcs who came and brought her morsels, enough to keep her alive and the unborn child well. The wound on her side caused her much discomfort. Sauron had healed it enough so it was not life threatening, but if she was not careful it would reopen and risk infection. She knew it needed proper care, but she was not going to get that here. She looked down at her gradually growing stomach, despite her best efforts, the child grew still, slowed only slightly. It was clearly visible now, that she was pregnant. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the bars of the cage. She had no tears left to shed, so she sat in sorrowful silence.

A few minutes later, her silence was disturbed by the creek of the door to her dismal living quarters. Two smaller orcs scurried in, one had keys to her cage in hand. She watched them with little interest in her eyes. The one with the keys opened the cage door. The second leaned in the cage, it's stench flooding her nostrils.

“Lord Sauron requests you to join him for dinner,” it snorted.

She moved her head forward slightly, her eyes narrowed in a glare, “And if I refuse?” she asked in snarky tone.

The second hissed out a chuckle, “Its not like you have a choice….. you belong to him!”

The first snickered, “Pathetic little witch thinks she has a say in what goes, does she?”

“No of course not!” the second added in, “Now get up, our Lord Sauron wishes you clean and presentable…. Not that you have much hope in that. Eh?” he asked nudging the other orc. She said nothing, not even rewarding them with a response as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She paused mid way and winced, hand on her left side.

One of the orcs noticed, “does the wittle witch have a boo boo?” That earned a laugh from the other orc, “Come on and hurry it up!”

She glared daggers at them as she slowly straightened. Each orc grabbed one of her wrists and roughly pulled her out of the cage and out of the room. They led her through the tower to a room. She noticed it contained a bath, and in the corner on a clothes display was a beautiful deep red dress with gold trimming. The orcs pushed her towards the bath.

“Hurry up and clean up, Lord Sauron does not like to be kept waiting!” one snarled.

She stood next to the bath, waiting for the orcs to leave, but they didn't. They looked at each other one stepping forward, “Do you need help getting in the wee bath?” It mocked suddenly pushing her into the water. She fell with a splash. Coming out of the water coughing, the orcs laughed in pleasure at seeing her struggles. She turned away from them, deciding to enjoy the little luxury she was given. The warm water soothed her aches and pains. She gratefully washed the dirt and grime off of her skin. She slipped out of her ruin clothes while in the bath, tossing them aside. Once she was done she turned to the orcs that still stood watching her.

“Do you mind?” she growled.

“No. We don't mind at all, do we?”

“Nope, not at all, do continue.”

Rolling her eyes and scoffing in disgust she climbed out of the tub, as she got dresses she paused and looked to the wound on her side, it was swollen and scabbed over. She carefully slipped into the dress. It was soft silk.

The orcs grabbed her wrists again and led her out of the bathroom. They took her to the dining hall, pushing her in before closing the door. She looked back at the door, almost wanting to be back in her cage rather than be here.

“Finally you have come.”

She turned towards the voice. She saw not the Sauron she was accustomed to. His hair was a flaming orange, he wore elegant black robes. His amber eyes on her, looking her over. His voice was slightly deeper then when he was Annatar but no less sinister. He sat at the end of a small rectangle table, which adorned all sorts of succulent food. Luriel felt her mouth water but she did not move, “Come, sit,” he said gesturing to the chair across from him. She saw that accursed golden ring on his finger as he did, knowing that he was in control here. He knew that as well as a smirk crossed his face. She reluctantly made her way to the chair and sat. She turned her head away so she did not have to look at him.
“I assume you hunger, I thought you would enjoy a proper meal,” he said.
Though that statement was true, all she did was turn and stare at the food.
He picked up a glass of wine, taking a sip before speaking, “It is not poisoned, I assure you.”