The standard bearer (Elrond x oc)

18. Stay with me!

"I do not like that you do this."

"I know, Elrond." Gil busied herself collecting the papers she would need.
"Nor do I like doing it."

"Then why must you?"

"We have been through this." She sighed exasperatedly. "There is a spy in
the camp. It is the only explanation for the Enemy's unerring ability to
attack us at our weakest points. This prisoner may hold vital information,
and he must be interrogated."

"But why are you taking this one personally," His voice was annoyed, almost
petulant, "instead of leaving it to the orderlies as before?"

"Because firstly, I cannot always ask them to do a task which I myself
will not undertake, and secondly," her face was grim, "given where Lord
Brithiar picked him up, he is quite likely to have the information that we
need."

He came up behind her, sliding his arms about her waist. "You are a very
stubborn woman!"

"We have been through that also." She smiled, twisting her head to look up
at him.

"Is Anárion bringing the prisoner here?"

"Yes, a room has been prepared." She looked troubled for a moment, then
straightened, and turned to face him, "Will you be here?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Or next door with the others."

"I hope I shall not have to be too long."

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and she turned and called for her
assistant.

The youth ducked awkwardly under the lintel, his long limbs gangling, the
fringe of dark hair falling into eyes now higher than her own.

"Are we ready, my lady?"

"Yes, Mardil." She gave him the papers to carry, picked up her cloak and
led the way out the door.

The room was dark. The only light from the lamp on the table. The prisoner
was seated in a chair, hands and feet bound, a cloth gag twisted into his
mouth. Lord Brithiar and Sergeant Gillow had been assigned by Anárion to
oversee his custody, and they stood in the shadows looking on. Gil sat in a
chair on the opposite side of the table to the captive, Mardil at her
shoulder.

The prisoner was a man. His age probably not much more than her own. His
face was gaunt and his eyes dark with a haunted depth.

She stared intently at him, without speaking, for a long while. The man's
eyes shifted and roamed. She motioned silently to Brith to remove his gag.
He gasped, moving his mouth and tongue with relief.

"What is your name?" her voice was expressionless.

He tried to speak but succeeded only in giving a dry gasp. He coughed,
harshly, "Water," he rasped.

She motioned to Mardil, and he placed a cup of water in front of her. The
man eyed it greedily, lifting his hands, bound together at the wrist,
towards it.

She sat perfectly still. Forcing herself not to feel anything, not to show
anything. After a little time he dropped his hands listlessly to the table
and his head drooped. She pushed the cup over to him.

He hesitated before taking it, looking up at her for permission. By the
stars, how she hated this. She nodded curtly. He grasped the cup and drank
thirstily, draining it quickly.

She waited until he had lowered the cup, cradling it between his two hands.

"What is your name?"