Middle Earth. The Third Age.

War has begun. It has been going on for some time; they are looking for the One. The One Ring which has been lost for so many years. Sauron now moves to retrieve it, though he knows not where it lies. Forces move all over the place, taking prisoners to grow their army, or just killing for the sport. One of the main bases for them is the dark tower of Dol Guldur in the south of what was once known as Greenwood the Great, but is now Mirkwood.

It is near this place where our story begins.

{If help on locations is needed, just see this.}

- Name: Alara Nailo

- Species: Half Elf

- Alliance: Middle Earth and the King of Mirkwood

- Land of Origin: Lothlorien

- Age: 214

-Appearance: Alara Nailo is a Half Elven woman, looking about to be in her mid-thirties, she has thick black hair to her shoulders and shadowy grey eyes. Her skin is fair and her features delicate, her chin is roundly stubborn and she is slightly shorter then the average human, with a slim, wiry build of a traveling swordswoman. She wears men's attire, dark breeches, shirt, tunic and knee high boots. A belt about her waist holds dagger, sword and a few odd pouches. A long bow with arrow filled quiver is slung over her shoulders. She also carries a traveler's haversack. There is a scar on her right cheek, that curves up to her temple as well as others she accumulated over the years.

-Occupation: Traveller, soldier

- Skills: Tracking, fighting ((With long blade, short blade and pole arms)) stealth, hand to hand combat, agility, marksmanship.

- Weaknesses: Magery, brute strength, poison

Personality: She is quiet, reserved, loyal to the Elven people and humans. Alara is stubborn and holds her own ideals of the way she conducts herself, she is meditative and is willing to aid others in need, and will stand by another in battle without a second thought. She holds the traditions of her Elven ancestors but possesses a lively interest in the art of war as well as the gentler arts, she is practical and has adapted well to the life of travel.

- Biography: Alara was born in Lothlorien, and raised with her mother's people. Her mother was an Elven healer and her father was a human craftsman it was he that made her sword, with the help of the Elves. They lived on the border of the Elven boundary, to not give away the secret depths of Lothlorien and so that Alara could live with both of her parents. As the Elves do she came of age in her first century and was trained in warfare, becoming quite skilled. She was made to balance growing arrogance with humility after an encounter with Goblins left her injured and three of her comrades dead. Later she joined the Elven army, becoming a soldier and aiding with the command of a small campaign to move out into Orc territory where she was captured and has vanished from her allies eyes.

- Name: Sirithcair {Seerh-ith-kaa-eer} [but goes by Sirith]

- Species: Elven

- Alliance: Thranduil of Mirkwood and Galadriel of Lorien

- Land of Origin: Lorien

- Age: 372

-Appearance: Sirith has rather tanned skin considering he's an elf, though to humans it still looks rather pale. He has long, honey-coloured hair and slanted green eyes. While he is rather old by human standards, he looks to be only in his early twenties. His maturity level is a little above this though, since he really is older. He wears mostly woody colours like brown and green, but sometimes blue or black is thrown in too. He has a small build even for an elf, and is nearly a head shorter than most elves his age. Despite this he is fairly muscular. His hands are worn from the years spent in the forest, and his eyes show kindness at least most of the time.
Occupation: Elven ranger

- Skills: Is good at tracking and woodsmanship in general. He's a good fighter, though he's a bit better with a bow than he is with his blade. He's a thinker and likes to read, and is rather good at riddles.

- Weaknesses: He tends to be submissive and a little gullible at times. He's not so great when it comes to healing though, and doesn't know a whole lot about herbs despite the fact he's around them a lot out in the wild.

Personality: Sirith tends to be rather quiet, and enjoys the forest. He's a very loyal person, and honesty is important to him. He loves nature and animals, and most of his friends are creatures he meets on his adventures. But he is a good friend none the less, and tends to be overprotective of the few friends he does acquire.

- Biography: Sirithcair was born and raised in Lorien, where we was of course, taught elven lore from the very start. His father wanted him to be a warrior, his mother wanted him to be a healer. He was trained for both of these things, but hated them both. As he got older, he proved to be a bit of a rebel type, and spent most of the time that he should have been studying out in the woods by himself. His parents started to worry when he became distant and failed in his studies, but they still loved him of course. They set him up for a private tutoring, though that still didn't help.
Later on in his life, he got into a little trouble. He doesn't like to talk about it, but what happened was rather simple. He loved animals and took in a hurt wolf who ended up injuring a few people. He was shunned and had to leave home at a rather young age. He went off into the wilderness, wandering between Lorien and Mirkwood most of the time.

~first post~

The orange sky was becoming ever darker. The birds had all but stopped their singing, the creatures of the night were starting to creep out from their dark holes, and the wind whispered softly through the trees. A dark figure was crouched near the ground, his eyes closed as he listened to the cool breeze. It wasn't too often that he got to enjoy such a moment, at least not at this time of day. He relished these sorts of moments.

A pair of emerald eyes snapped open as there was a crack of something stepping on a stick further in the trees. Taking a little breath, he moved forward, his hair swinging down in front of his face as he leaned over towards the ground. He sniffed at the air, trying to decipher which direction she was in. He heard another soft sound of hoof hitting leaf, and followed it immediately.

After following the noises for a few minutes, he finally crouched down softly, peering through the leaves, hidden by his wood-coloured clothes which blended in. He could see her now, a beautiful brown doe, grazing in the grass. He didn't like to have to hunt animals much, but sometimes there was a need. He understood that it was just the circle of life as much as he hated to take life to make the circle work.

Sirith slid his bow off his back, pulling an arrow slowly from his quiver. Fitting the arrow to the string, he stood a little to get a better look. Stretching his arms out, he got into position, ready to let loose the string...

The deer's head suddenly shot up, her attention caught by something coming. Her golden eyes shot over in Sirith's direction quickly as he growled in frustration. With a graceful bound, she leaped away, her tail up in the air as she went. Sirith started to shoot her anyway, figuring the noise had just been a raccoon or something, but the stopped, lowering his bow slowly. She would live. He couldn't bear to take her down now. He had been thinking about it too much again...

His attention was also turned though as he heard a steady pounding noise. It sounded like feet, but not just ordinary feet. Large, clomping feet with metal shoes. He listened closely, edging toward it but keeping his bow ready and loaded just in case. Inching slowly through the trees, he peered through the leaves, trying to catch a glimpse of the creatures that he heard.

He flinched a little as he finally caught sight of them. Orcs. He sighed, cursing under his breath. Just what he needed...

At first he thought he'd just run, but then he stopped. Maybe there weren't too many. Maybe he could take them...

Stepping a little closer, he peeked around a tree, still keeping his bow at a level position. There was about twenty of them. No way. He couldn't take on twenty orcs...

Sliding his arrow back into his quiver and strapping the bow back in place, he crouched down and waited for them to pass so that they wouldn't see him. One of them stopped though, sniffing at the air.

He said something in a language that Sirith couldn't understand, trying to get the attention of his buddies. One of them finally stopped, and they talked quietly together as the other orcs stopped too. Great, they were taking a break. Who knew when they'd be done...

The two orcs that had been talking suddenly went away from the group, searching through the bushes all around. What were they doing...?

He waited for a while, then realized in horror that they were sniffing too. They were searching for something. They were searching for him...

A loud snarl sounded right next to his ear and he jumped back about three feet, pulling his blade out to try to defend himself. It ended up not mattering though; the other one was right behind him.

"Gotcha, elfy!" He roared, grabbing Sirith's shoulders. With a little yelp, he tried to hit the orc backhandedly with his sword, but the first one kicked the blade out of his hand. He then resorted to struggling, though that did no good against an iron grip...

The larger orc dragged him back over to the rest of the group, flaunting him as his prize. "Loo' wha' we foun..." He laughed with his broken accent. Some of the other orc sneered at Sirith or laughed with the big one who had his hands clamped onto the elf's small arms. "A lil flesh fo' sport..." He grinned with a gravelly chuckle before shoving Sirith to his knees in front of the other orcs.

Now that his hands were free, he started to reach for his bow. His hands were stayed however, by a rough, larger pair of gnarled hands. A large foot shoved him onto the ground on his face while the blackened hands worked around some scratchy ropes that were tied around his wrists.

"You get use tuh tha'..." The orc laughed as he tried to struggle out of them. "You git use tuh it..."

How long had it been? Since she had tasted the night air and listened to the wind in the trees, tasted fresh water and been above ground?

She could not remember.

All she sensed now was the cold stone underneath her, the smell of rock and blood and decay filled her nose. The faint screams of her Elven comrades, when they died in battle, and recently under the knife and rack sounded like a distant echo in the back of her mind. Her body ached, chilled and fired by alternates and her head spun, vision blurring constantly. The thought of escape seemed impossible; the sense that she was miles underground, including the fact that she was too weakened to move made such thought mere fancies.

She now measured time by the intervals that she languished in this cramped hollow of a cave, to when she was dragged out into a dimly lit cavern, eyes stinging from even that small amount of light. A series of carved niches held knives, whips, and small potions that held a noxious fluid that burned vilely when applied to the skin. Some knives and other devices were soaked in types of poison that would keep a wound from healing, or would create cold pain that mingled with the stretch of the rack, or the crack of the whip. All sense of time was lost when she was in that hollow, her voice cracking as screams were torn from her throat, until her voice was lost and she opened her mouth soundlessly, reduced to thin gasps.

Each ‘session’ was ended by the force fed application of harsh Orc medicine, a vile, burning liquid that left her choking, but her wounds sealed. Poultices made from a horrid fungus kept the wounds from being infected, but the cold, the lack of constant food and the torture was wearing her thin. Alara Nailo now leaned against the cold stone wall, new scars itching, body aching and skin chilled under a tattered amount of fabric that was once her clothing. Dark grey eyes stared off into space as her chest rose and fell, memories surging in the back of her clouded mind.

The day was fair, the sun bright and the air clear. She and five others moved silently over the fields, wary as they cast their eyes along the stone outcroppings. All were armed, with sword, knives and bow. They had been tracking the progress of the Orcs for nearly a fortnight, vanishing into the shadows to avoid any sight of their enemy. For days they avoided roving group, finding small caves and holds where the Orcs stayed. All that changed as they began their retreat to their encampment, to give a report. On the edge of the territory, they were ambushed. The fight that ensued was swift and brutal, one of Alara’s allies was killed, and her group had accounted for five of the Orcs before they were overwhelmed. She last recalled shouting a command to group together before something heavy had crashed into the back of her head, stars bursting in her vision before everything went dark.

Hours later it seemed she had awoken to sharp pain in her side and arms. Her arms tingled with pain before going numb and her head ached, sticky blood resting on her neck. The pain in her side originated from the prodding of an orc who carried a blade, sneering at her. Her comrades were around her, half waking as well. Any attempt to escape, or fight was met with brutal force, and the orcs began their ‘sessions’ that evening, seeing Alara was their leader, they chose her to go last and she wiled the night away, listening to her comrades howls of agony, rage and grief swirling inside her.

The woman shook that memory away, feeling ill. She did not know how many days passed, only that she was the only one that was still alive and felt that soon she would join her comrades, whether in that cursed room, or in this cramped cave. Listening to the sounds of her breathing and the distant sounds of the orcs, something new reached her ears. Her head lifted slightly, and her eyes were half open as she waited to see which of her torturers would be arriving, not dreaming that they would be bringing someone else in to share the misery.

It had been long since the plodding of the orcs' feet and the clanging of their heavy armor had slowly been muted in Sirith's hearing. When you hear something for so long, it just sort of fades from your consciousness. How long had it been since he had collapsed? Maybe five hours? Maybe only three...?

He couldn't remember anything straight really. All he knew was that sometimes recently the weariness had gotten to him, and his legs refused to hold him up anymore. He remembered when his face had hit the mud. Everything was a little bleary after that, though he remembered something whamming into his side and then another something smacking him across the face. Even if he had wanted to get up and defend himself, it wouldn't have really worked. He could hardly move at that point, though he was still unable to stand even now.

That was the reason that he was thrown over an orc's shoulder right then. The steady rocking of the creature's stride wasn't comforting or rhythmic in any way. Of course that probably had something to do with the fact that his head banged against the hard armor on the being's back with almost every step.

With a weary sigh, Sirithcair closed his eyes, wriggling his fingers to try to keep them alive. His fingers felt like they were going to fall off or something. They were cold and he couldn't feel them. Probably not a good sign. But that's what you get when you tie a rope that tight around your wrists. Not that Sirith had done it himself or anything.

The blurry ground below had been green forever and ever, but now suddenly there was a bit more dirt to be seen. Though he tried hard, Sirith's muddled mind couldn't quite remember what that meant. Was it that there was more sun here or that they were close to a river or close to a cave maybe...?

But if it was important he'd find out. Who knew if he'd even want to find out though...

It was hard to tell though the smell of himself and the orcs, but he was pretty sure he smelled something different. And it wasn't an animal, not a tree, not a stream... No, this was... blood. And he was pretty sure it was the matted blood in his hair or the oozing stuff dripping sluggishly out of his little scrapes or the dried stain on his lips. There was definitely someone else bleeding. Maybe more than one someone else...

Trying to strain himself around to see where they were, he licked the blood on his lips by habit. It still wouldn't come off, but he could wish. Unfortunately, the orc noticed him squirming and smacked his cheek before he could actually see where they were. He'd just have to wait some more. Though judging by the way his head was feeling fuzzy and weak, maybe he would have to wait until he woke up...

Through the noise of his muddled head, he heard the orcs speaking in their harsh language to each other. The one didn't sound like any of the orcs that had taken him though. As strange as it was, Sirith now could easily recognize each of the orcs who had him. It was easy to match the taunts they had jeered at him to their normal speaking since they sounded like they were jeering even when they were being serious. He even knew some of their names. That wasn't something to be proud of though. It tormented his dreams already.

Sirith let out a loud grunt as he hit the ground, his head connecting with the dirt in a painful manner. Sirith groaned, his head lolling to the side weakly. It was uncomfortable to lie on top of his hands like that, but he couldn't really flip himself over. It was amazing how sore you could get by being slumped over the shoulder of an orc for only a few hours...

Alara jerked, her body moving in a weak twitch as an orc shouldered his way into the cave, depositing a body on the ground. For a moment, her addled mind thought that the orc had brought the body of one of her comrades, to taunt her. Her throat worked, and she attempted to speak, her voice not coming to her as the orc sneered "Got a friend for ya, halfy." he stated, calling her by the moniker she has seemed to have gained, due to her heritage and left. Glaring after the orc, she turned to the bundle, and squinted, her eyes focusing in the dark until she began to take in the slumped form of the Elf.

Her back straightened, which made her wince and she shifted fowards as he groaned. The half elf began to move, body protesting each inch she slid forwards. In what seemed like hours she came to the Elf's side, her form shaking with effort, sweat covering her skin. Her hands reached out, not touching the Elf let as she attempted to speak, a long moment passed before a thin rasp came from the woman.

"I only wish to help."

Her hands reached out, grasping the Elf in a trembling hold. In time she eased him onto his free side, loosening his hands the best she could. Swallowing and feeling dizzy she slumped against the wall, sweating, eyes closed. Even that simple movement seemed to exhaust her and it took an effort to open her eyes again, staring through the Elf now, eyes glazed.

Sirith jumped a little when he heard a voice right next to his ear. It took him a minute, but he soon realized it wasn't an orc. Both the fact that the voice wasn't as harsh and gravelly, and the fact that it was female. He was pretty sure he'd never seen a female orc...

"H-hannon lle..." He bowed his head in thanks at her actions. He could tell it had taken a lot just to do the little bit that she had done. Wriggling his fingers a little now that the ropes had been loosened a bit, he tried to sit up a bit more. This woman looked to be in worse shape than him. He wondered how long she had been there...

"H-how.. wha- who are you?" He finally decided on the first question to ask. Not only did he wonder her name, but also her place of origin, her position, and also her race, though there was no way of knowing if she'd really understand that he wondered all that with the simple question he asked. The thing that really vexed him most was the race though. Slightly pointed ears were visible through her ragged hair, but something about her wasn't completely elven. He didn't know what it was, but it was just something he could sense. But what he did know was that they were in this together, so they'd better get to know each other. If the stories he had heard about orcs and prisoners were all true, they were going to be going through a lot, and she might be the only good thing he'd been seeing the rest of his miserable life, or at least until someone saved him. Although there was certainly nobody looking for an outcast like Sirith. But he couldn't help but hope for some reason. Curse him for being that way. It would be a let-down when he died there on the floor of that cave with no family, no home, and no comfort or sanity. It certainly wasn't the glorious thing you heard about in the songs and stories...

The woman blinked, eyes fluttering closed as she turned her head to his voice, her lips twitching into a battered smile “Úman ná..” She replied, voice a thin rasp. She paused a moment, blinking quickly again as if she had forgotten her identity a moment. Eyes clearing she sat up a little “Alara Nailo, daughter of Einion of Rohan and Eraniel of Lorien. Commander of..of..” she trailed off, eyes glinting with a weary, tired pain. “Of a command now dead.” She managed, taking a few deep breaths, as her head leaned against the wall of the cave.

Her head was tilted and the weak light fell of her pale skin, her cheekbone were defined, chin round and nose straight. Her hair was matted with blood and sweat, falling to her shoulders in tangled black locks. Her eyes were a dark grey, and were filled with exhaustion, pain and a faint light rested in their depths, the need to survive and escape. Her form was thin, thinner then it should have been, but muscle and strength rested in her wiry frame, with the slight graceful lines of the Elvenkind.

She was a blending of the Elves and Men, with the shorter lifespan of a mortal and a stubborn need to live, as well as the grace and curiosity of an Elf. Her clothes were near tatters, but she held herself as straight as possible, body trembling with weariness as she watched the Elven male, perhaps seeing her dead command, or the kin that seemed so far away. Swallowing, the woman blinked, eyes heavy now “Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep awake, hoping that he did not vanish away like morning mist as she spoke, that she had not dreamed this in her delirium.

The condition of the woman was probably worse than anything Sirith had ever seen. No being should have to suffer through what she had obviously suffered. Except perhaps the ones who had done it in the first place. They might deserve it...

He had, of course, noticed this before, but once she opened her mouth it was all the more evident. Both in the sound of her voice and the tone of her voice. It all pointed to terrible things. Something in the back of his mind was quite fearful of this, knowing that he would probably look that that in no time as well, but for now, he was the one in good shape here...

"Oh; I am truly sorry for your loss..." He said quietly, letting there be a short silence before answering her question. "I am Sirithcair, Hîredaw-ion*, and my mother was Meril Baradal, both of the forest of Lothlorien, though I myself no longer belong to Lorien but to the wild." Sirith gave a little bow with his head, and felt like flourishing his hand a bit by instinct, but the hand was sort of stuck behind his back.

"Um, how long have you been here?" He asked in a near-whisper. It almost felt like an awkward question or something. But Sirith didn't really know what else to ask. Besides that, he was curious. Judging by the fact that her deep eyes, which reminded him of an overcast sky, were filled with absolutely nothing except for perhaps the faintest little spark of life, and the way her small frame shook, it had been a while since she saw the outside, or was able to walk free or feel any sort of joy or happiness. It rather scared him to think that something like that could really happen to a person, especially someone who had Elven blood in them. In all the Elves Sirith had ever seen, there was always a light. When he had been young, his father had always said that it was a little speck of the Trees of Valinor which shined in their kind still as it still burned in their hearts.

But that could have been a thing that a father just said to quench an adventurous-spirited son's thirst for glory...

{{*the 'ion' is 'the son of' from what I remember. Though I'm rusty. >_<}}

((No worries, I don't know Quenya at all. Nice new outfit for the Avi by the way)

Taking a breath Alara felt the faint glimmer of a smile fade as she watched the elf for a long moment, seeing the fear begin to brew in his eyes, they were the colour of spring leaves and his hair was golden, like the Elves of Lothlorien. It was a travesty that he was here, and her chest tightened at the thought of the light of another Elf going out. The urge to protect him rose, as it had for her comrades, she did not want to see him fade like the others, or feel the pain that they had. Perhaps it was because he was the first being that was not an Orc to be in this place in the time she had spent here before. Or it could be her instinct as a commander and warrior to protect those around her, whichever it was she did not want to see him returned as shattered as the others had, the thought made a gorge of sickness rise in her throat.

Her head bowed slightly as he spoke “Suilanye son of Meril” she replied, voice soft, worn, it was getting harder for her to speak clearly. Taking a few breaths, she listened to his question and her brow furrowed as a frown of puzzlement crossed her face. She tried to think of how long she had been in this place and could not remember, a chill of fear rolling down her spine. “I..do not know, what day is it?” she asked, eyes showing confusion and worry. “I do not recall. Moments have bled together, the sun cannot reach here, nor the wind…there is no way of telling.” She murmured, voice wavering at the edges as her body shook.

The half elf seemed to tense, an act of will to stop her body from shaking as her breathing grew hitched. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly until she leaned her head against the stone wall, breath calming as she shivered, body wracked with an invisible fever. Calming, she looked at him once more, gaze dull until she blinked several times, gaze clearing, the faint light returning “They will not start right away, they will wait awhile, until fear and hunger weakens the resolve, perhaps there is a chance.” She added, voice and tone soft and bleak as if she was not able to muster the energy to believe such a thing herself.

{{~*Ah. ^_^; And thanks. :D*~}}

With a short sigh, Sirith frowned. What days was it...? He hadn't been keeping track himself, not since he got caught. But it had been roughly four days of travel since then... Though that was very rough; he had been unconscious for some of that...

"I think it's... The fourteenth day of the tenth month... But I could be wrong. I've hit my head a few times since I last looked at a calendar..." He let out a weak laugh, both weak with weariness and with lack of real humor. It seemed like that as much as she (and he too) needed some humor, it was a little unfitting to laugh in such circumstances.

He frowned a little, concerned when she seemed to have some sort of spell as if sick. Although that was a bit of a laughable statement; how could someone endure whatever it was those horrid monsters did and be healthy by any stretch of the imagination? But it made him wish he'd obtained some sort of knowledge of the "magical" (as Men called it) healing powers of the Elves. Some were born with it, others were trained in it over time. Sirith's parents had wanted him to learn it, but he was too restless for more tutoring and he hadn't had many years for it yet anyway. If only he had been a little calmer of a child. If only he had paid more attention. It would have actually been for good...

But as it was, he was helpless. Sirithcair hated that feeling. That utter uselessness. It made him want to rip out his hair. Though he figured the orcs might beat him to that one...

"Wait a while..." He repeated her, tossing the phrase over in his head. The way she said it made it sound like it was a thing to be glad for. In reality, because of both the weak tone of voice used and just his figuring in general, he wasn't sure it was something to be even remotely happy about. "Prolonging the pain", was it called? Make sure the prisoner was already about ready to go mad before ripping them so far from life that they wanted to be pushed the last inch, then letting them heal enough so they could do it again and again...

It wasn't a pretty picture to word it simply.

Alara did not react to the weak jest; it must be confessed that she did not seem to have the thought capacity to understand it just now. From what he had been saying and as far as she could recall, the time she had spent in her had amounted to about a moon-turn and a sick sense of giddiness filled her as her body shook in silent laughter. “Only a moon-turn, it feels a eternity.” She managed, eyes pricking with tears as she stared at the Elf, eyes quickly turning bleak. It was unthinkable that she had been here this long, that she was still alive while her comrades were dead. That she could survive for more moon turns until she went mad and perished and was tossed aside into a stinking hole with her comrades. Alara’s voice quavered and cracked as she spoke, as if she was losing her will just by hearing that.

The woman’s eyes closed briefly and she swallowed, nodded “Yes, days perhaps, until the torture is a blessing because it means you do not have to wait any longer.” She managed, voice rasping as her mouth felt dry and her lips cracked, bleeding lightly from her speaking at length. “Once done, they let you languish here; until you feel forgotten by the world…perhaps I am already.” She mused, body shaking as if wracked by a deep chill as her eyes closed again, pain and exhaustion crossing her face.

Sirith looked up at her sadly. It was very awful to hear that she had been there for that long. He wished that he were here to get her out rather than become imprisoned with her.

"Do not lose heart so quickly, Hiril*. That is what they want. Don't let them have it..." He encouraged softly, giving her a pleading look. Though he had obviously never experienced it himself, from what he had heard people captured by orcs died faster when they gave in to the orc's dirty intentions. Sirith had also heard that it was even more so that way for elves in particular. Even if she was only half-elven, half was enough for him to be a little worried...

Which brought up a strange, but somehow rather encouraging realization; being in situations like this really made your relationships grow at a fast rate. The common enemy was enough to drive two such as them together at an abnormally fast rate. On the one hand, this was rather nice; it had been a while since he'd had a real friend who could speak the same language as him. On the other hand; they were in a cave. With orcs. Who could kill them in the blink of an eye, or make them bleed just to laugh at the crimson pools that puddled on the floor.

It was a morbid thought indeed, but it was full of truth. It seemed like the truth always dressed in black in this age...

{{*Lady (the higher title).}}

She blinked again, half-open eyes gazing at him in a mix of bleak weariness and oddly enough very faint amusement. She had not been called Lady in a long time, when she had been among the Elves who were honorable to a fault. His words pierced her and she nodded very slowly, a scarred hand clenching into a fist.

“Yes, that is what they seek. And they shall not have it.” She murmured as if to herself a small bite of steel to the barely perceptible words. Her eyes rested on his pleading gaze, that faint light burning brighter a moment as she forced herself to sit straight against the stone, legs stretched out as well.

Alara kept her eyes on Sirith as if frightened that she would blink and he would dissolve on the wind like mist, or sink into the stone away from her. That a comforting voice and a live prescience nearby had been the product of her own delirious and fatigued mind. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her lungs still clear but it was obviously slightly painful to even breathe, or perhaps it was the fact that each breath taken meant another long moment waiting for an orc to come back in and drag her to that hellish chamber.

The woman did not speak of this, she could not, it was devastating enough to feel, more so to put into words to one that was more afraid then she. Nonetheless she was already glad he was her, but even that she could not express, too weary, too scared that it too would be taken from her. She kept silent a long moment, before a distant resolve filled her and made her speak, it would be best to keep speaking to keep both their minds from fears and nightmarish thoughts. “Tell me of your travels.” She murmured, wanting to hear of the outside fields and woods and to recall that there was a world to fight to return to.

The fact that she was not yet discouraged so much by them made Sirith feel a little better. It was one step closer to getting out, really. Although he didn't really know how they would get out. Maybe that was a thing that did not come until later. Though later sounded almost bad. Later probably meant after their bodies were all but unrecognizable and they seemed to be bleeding like the rain.

And that was something that he was not looking forward to, for her or for himself.

"My travels...?" He sighed softly, scooting over and leaning back against the wall as he thought about it. That was a wide subject. It was a question he simply turned down in some cases. But it seemed like she might need this. Maybe it would cheer her up a bit. He was willing to try, just for that. Just for a little glimmer of hope or happiness for her.

"Well... I haven't gone many places to be truthful. I've been around Mirkwood and Lorien, though not much further. I've been over Caradhras and back only once, and I only went to Rivendell that time... But even though they seem great and terrible I somehow find beauty in them. My father always told me I was insane when I said such things though so I didn't say them often at home for fear of getting one of those odd looks he gave me." He gave a little laughing snort, though it hadn't been funny to him back when it happened...

"My allies lie only with my kin and my friends are only the animals. Ever since an incident at home, I've been rather banished from my family. I'm allowed into Lorien, but only occasionally. When I was first cast out from them, I went straight to Mirkwood, though I did not go to Thranduil's house so quickly as I should have. I stayed in the forest, where I soon found there was not good company. After visiting the palace in Mirkwood for a short time I made my trip to the mountains and to Rivendell, where I stayed for a short time.

"Ai, Rivendell is the most glorious place I have laid eyes upon in the world. I could live there forever just content if they gave me a small garden." His emerald eyes stared off at the wall behind Alara, though they looked much farther away than just there. "I can still smell the sap of the flourishing flowers, feel the soft breeze...

"Though here the memory is somewhat dimmed..." He said softly, the excited spark in his eyes fading as his vision returned to the dark rock in front of him. This lull in his mood made it a little hard to go on really, but he would manage...

When Sirith spoke of clear skies and soft breezes, Alara closed her eyes tightly as if to press those images in her mind and transport her to a place that was not full of dead stone and blood. Still as he spoke and as she let his words was over her, the rational side of her felt the hard rock against her back and a new wetness on her face as tears coursed down her face, running pale tracks in the grime of sweat and blood. Memory that seemed all to dim rushed to the front of her mind, of her time in the borders of Lothlorien when she was a child and her travels in the woods that held the beauty of an ageless world, of when Middle-Earth itself had been young. All that seemed so far away, a misty dream world that felt impossible to return to. The stark contrast of those times and what was before her now made her wither inside, the tightness that had rested in her heart since the first time she had been tossed on this floor tightened and the urge to sob became nearly unbearable. A long moment of silence stretched out, as Alara brushed a trembling hand over her eyes, tears flowing anew soon after.

Attempting a force of iron will to keep her voice steady as possible, she spoke again “I did not have the fortune to find my path to Rivendell, it is one of my many regrets.” She murmured, voice wavering at the edges despite her efforts. Her head shook slowly as she attempted to wrest control over herself once more “I have seen the borders of Cahadras and wandered the Mirkwood, both were terrible…and beautiful, like the sea which I have only seen at a distance.” She stated, the faint note of wonder that the Elven kind held for the sea in her worn voice. Apparently she held the love for the sea that the Elves did, one that bordered on near obsession. She gave a tired nod at the idea that such word pictures could seem thin and grey in these conditions, her hand brushing at her eyes in weak frustration. She had gleaned from his earlier words that Sirith did not seem to be contended with his homeland and had not returned by his own violation and others, and the mention of being cast out peaked her curiosity. Watching him a moment she attempted a smile, her lips only twitching “I left my homeland as well, my Mother moved to the Grey Havens…after the passing of my Ada, after that...it did not feel like home, I wanted to see the world.” She murmured, eyes a bit glazed as she thought of older times.

((Sorry for the delay in replying! I got really busy with a new schedule and had a bout of writer's block)

Sirithcair smiled slightly as he saw her seem to get taken away with his story. Her fair face seemed to have a slight smile to it, which was certainly worth the words. The tears just sent that joy back into the void as he realized just why she had probably asked about that. The darkness was heavy in here, and it was displayed clearly on her face and weighed down on his heart the more he watched her. He wished he could just wipe the tears from her face and put his arm around her, but it was not to be. His hands were stuck behind his back and he would have felt bad if he had touched her anyway; there didn't seem to be a spot of clear skin left on her body. All was damaged at least if not dirty. Purple and black bruises along with the red marks only made him flinch to look at.

"That is... a shame..." He said softly when she mentioned Rivendell. "Perhaps you shall be able to venture that way when you get out of here..." His lame attempt to cheer her was very weak. Although he tried to have hope for both of them it was hard to find that when they were in the dark cave with the grumbling sound of orcs in the distance. The black pools of darkness only made that hope diminish slowly through the seemingly far-off sound of some sort of dripping. Either an underwater stream or... maybe something worse...

"Aye, the Sea..." Sirith said in a soft whisper, feeling a terrible, wrenching feeling in his heart when he thought about it. "I have never seen the Sea either. Only tasted and smelled small wisps of it through Ulmo in the rivers..." He added, frowning into the darkness that was the dirt floor. Although he had yet to see it, he knew the longing it put in the hearts of his kin were they to look upon it. He was still quite young for an Elf, so the cares of the world had yet to really set in for him. Yet, he dreaded the day when he might see it. The fact that he had never seen it made him rather afraid of it. He wondered if he might look upon it and never be able to draw himself away as his grandfather had done. He had only been a little older than Sirith was now...

{{~*That's okey. You have a life; you should live it. xD
I'm slow on replying too sometimes... or a lot of times...*~}}