Too late she flinched aside; the blood gushed forth and spouted over her dress as the member of her guard who had stood faithfully at her side lost his head. A gasp of mingled horror and shock escaped her lips as his body crumpled to the floor and then the goblin stood leering, his sword ready for her own body. Celebrían stumbled backwards but felt only the cold stone wall of the mountain pass at her back. Squeezing her eyes shut she waited for the blow, vivid thoughts and images streamed through her head, her husband, her children, her family, her friends. Nothing happened. Lifting her head she opened her eyes, finding courage and determined not to show her fear. Then she saw them, and she knew she would. The bodies littered the small space of the pass, so much so that she was forced to walk upon some as she was dragged, her hands having been seized and bound. Trying to tread lightly upon her once guard she begged forgiveness as her feet became seeped in blood and dirt. It was nauseating. The coarse rope burned her wrists as she was jerked forward to where the remaining four of her guard waited fenced in by a ring of crude and dripping weapons, their fate was not death – not yet.

Despite the fact his right arm hung in an awkward angle Celebrían noted with sorrowful heartache how her guard captain still valiantly held his sword. Dragged and harried as a group, regardless of injuries they passed into the mountain lair, Celebrían vainly turned to try and catch a last glimpse of the light as she stumbled further down the dark tunnels. They were forced at such a pace, twisting and turning. Celebrían glimpsed many other tunnel branches in the gloom and despaired; even if they managed to break free of their captors they would never find a way out. Laboured breathing of one of her guards reached her ears and he had obviously sustained much hurt in battle, Celebrían would reach out to touch him comfortingly if she knew where he was. The tunnel narrowed and rough, bristling bodies surrounded her own, their grunting breath and horrid laughter assaulted her. Skin crawling she had no choice but to stagger on. Catching her foot upon the uneven ground she was sprung forwards and bit back a cry of pain as her foot twisted in the wrong direction, her breath came in ragged sobs as she was forced to run on; slowing down was no option. How much further would it be?

Her foot dragged on the floor, the delicate skin becoming more torn with every step. How her battle weary and sore guards were fairing she dare not imagine. Finally, after the endless twisting and turning in the dark passages Celebrían and her guards were thrust through a small aperture in the wall and all landed heavily on the stone floor, mouths wide in attempt to regain breath. Together they crawled towards the wall and propped themselves against it, eyes warily glancing to the small opening in the stonework that marked the door. They sat in silence for a few moments, regaining their breaths and then their wounds and hurts began to sting and ache anew. To her left the youngest member of the guard let out a low groan as he flexed a sliced arm, the skin either side pulling apart further. Turning her attention to her head guard whose laboured breaths continued she gently tried to remove the buckle of his leather embossed chest plate.

“No,” his voice was weak, “Leave it.” He tried to push her hand away but could not raise his arm high enough. Closing his eyes his voice was so quiet Celebrían had to strain to hear him, “I have failed you my lady.”

“No,” Celebrían breathed soothingly, smoothing his hair back from his face “You have fought bravely and protected me with your own life, risking all. You are honoured my friend,”

She thought she detected a faint smile, a minimal curving of his lips.

“Protect the lady, do your duty,” he said to the other guards “I hold you in my utmost respect for how you have acted. I pray that you will live to see the light again.” They nodded solemnly and he who was sitting alongside him soundly gripped his hand. His breathing was becoming painful to listen to, his sword now lay on the floor at his side, the hilt in limply curled fingers. Celebrían wondered why they had not taken it from him; obviously such base creatures could not appreciate the strength of a true warrior. “Tell,” he took a deep breath “Tell my wife, tell her for me.”

“I will.”

His soldier and friend helping him to his feet and wrapping his struggling fingers more tightly around his blade, the head guard stood summoning as much reserves his body had left. Then he was gone, shrill battle cry echoing around the small confines of the room, running sword aloft and eyes aglow with a manic light towards the doorway. He would not die dishonourably lying injured down in that hole. Blood dripped from under his armour like spots of rain, one unready sentry finding his guts impaled on the end of the sword and the thick blood gushed forth over the valiant elf’s hands as he withdrew his sword and swung again dispatching the goblin looming behind him. They began to surround him, his sword swings becoming wilder and less accurate as his broken arm took its toll. Eventually his fingers gave in and his sword was knocked across the room in a spinning arc. Its clatter upon the floor was lost in the screaming. Celebrían wished she could tear her eyes away from the butchery but stared in horrid fascination as he was hacked to bits where he stood. The fine crafted armour could not have withstood such a reckless onslaught. Bone cracked and even when he was fallen to the ground they did not stop, the small group of them enjoying themselves. Screwing her eyes shut too late, for the image was imprinted in Celebrían’s mind.

How long it had been they knew not, in the windowless chamber there was no telling if it was day or night, only that they knew they could not rest. Together they sat, hands tightly held, in the cave-like room, the light of the torch from the doorway not close enough to flicker across their grief and pain wrought faces. Shadows grew larger and there was more noise from outside. None of them had ventured far enough to see outside, and still they sat in a line, backs pressed against the wall as a group of goblins and orcs skulked into the room, presumably a chieftain clad in leather and ragged furs at their head. In a flash it seemed the most senior of her guards was plucked from along the wall.

“No!” Celebrían tried to keep a grip upon his hand and tug him back yet swords and other cruder looking implements began to fence in around her and she felt his hand slipping from her own. Doubling over as she received a kick to her stomach she attempted to cover her head as several blows rained down upon her. Her other guard received the same treatment. More light filled the room and Celebrían could see a fire had been started in the corner of the room from where she crawled along the floor. She wished she had not guessed what it was for. Laughing and jeering, the figures in front of her parted and Celebrían saw him, still managing to stand tall despite the fact his once shining and proud dark mahogany locks lay scattered on the floor around him and standing in odd upright tufts from his head. The chieftain swaggered forwards and his bony skull was smashed against her guard’s. Staggering dazedly the guard walked right into the kick of an orc behind him and fell forward on his face. His body rolled across the floor with the kicks and butts from one or two spears he received.

Then for a moment, Celebrían believed they were to be spared as she heard cries of pain from the orcs and saw them scurrying backwards. Yet it was not a saviour cutting through the crowd but yet another goblin swatting either side of him with a length of metal. A length of metal that was glowing fiercely orange. A section of wrapped around leather protected his hand as he swatted either side of him clearing a path, singing and burning even his own kind. Whilst he lay prone on the floor, they pinned him down and without pause the burning metal was pressed against his calves. He writhed in agony as it was pressed down mercilessly. Again her view was obscured and this time Celebrían was thankful.

What she would have seen was the skin barely having time to blister before the burning brand was applied to his skin yet again lower down and then above and then below again. Before long his fair skin was red and raw, and though Celebrían could not see and was huddled against her remaining guard the smell and sounds reached them both. They hauled him upright, maybe it was a foolish move for him to try stagger away for then they swung the metal out after him, this time his shoulder bore the brunt. His eyes wildly rolling, the torment having claimed his mind he vainly tried to stagger on. They chased him and delighted in it, the goblin lashing out when he chose and when their fun was spoilt by their prey reaching a wall the goblin promptly drove the thin length of metal through the guards chest, pinning him there.

They left.

Time passed. Motioning a finger to her lips for silence with a glance to the doorway Celebrían easily ripped a length of her now ragged dress off and began to bind the deep slash on his arm which had been reopened and begun bleeding again after his last beating. He managed to smile gratefully at her through lips as cracked as her own. Ripping another few ragged strips she secured them but wondered what good the filthy bits of cloth would actually do. Touching her fingers experimentally to a swelling on the side of her face Celebrían winced and decided she would not even consider examining her feet. Fear and depression were closing in upon her, holding the figures of her family and friends close in her mind Celebrían prayed, prayed for anything but this whilst she cringed against the wall. Her body stung and ached in numerous places, she was starving and desperately needed rest but her tormented mind would not allow her to be caught unawares.

Never show fear, never show pain, never be caught unawares.

In her head she found herself repeating the old battle mantra her husband had told tales of using, how she longed to see him and her children. They would not see her cry. Or at least that was what she told herself as a few tears managed to slip past her lashes.

Dragged to her feet and held by her throat against the wall, and a dagger hovering just above her eye. Celebrían’s lip trembled and she shook, eyes fixed upon the blade, waiting. Waiting.

Do it. Just do it she mentally pleaded, anything other than knowing it would happen and having to wait any longer. Her resolve was weakening, already she felt her legs begin to weaken beneath her. As she was steeling herself for the pain and clenching her fists she was distracted, and eyes looking away from the hovering blade just for a second as she saw her youngest guard elbow his tormentor in the stomach and dart away. Terrified of the outcome her eyes flicked back to the blade in front of her though it was not there for long. Diving headlong into the orc with a defiant cry her guard knocked him to the floor and together they scrabbled and rolled on the floor. Weakened though he was and despite the orc’s growls and strength the guard somehow nimbly managed to twist on top and whilst the orc was face down wrench his neck till it snapped.

“Behind you!” Celebrían cried out in alarm, her voice hoarse, as a wiry goblin loomed behind her guard as he struggled up. He tried to duck on hearing her warning yet the goblin was quicker and gripped his arm and on hearing the struggles from within the guard from the door had entered too. Celebrían was forgotten as the three remaining orcs and goblins in the chamber gathered around her guard. The bandage she had attempted not so long ago to put on was ripped from his arm and the brutal nails of the orcs dug into his healing skin as the stretched the slash further. He writhed in agony in their grip. Celebrían could not stand it, not again. She slipped forwards and picked up the discarded dagger of the dead orc. Taking tentative steps and then raising her hands she sent the dagger down with all her might into the back of the nearest goblin.

Standing behind horrified that she had just killed a creature despite all else Celebrían in her moments daze did not have enough time to react quickly enough to defend herself or dart away. Forcefully was she thrown across the room, and head colliding with the wall her consciousness slipped away. If she had been conscious she would have known her last guard suffered the fate he saved her from.

Searing pain woke her from the depths of unknowing, screaming in agony and writhing on the floor, desperately trying to pull her head away from whatever it was that was causing so much pain. Eyes rolling Celebrían took in her dim surroundings and then realised with the excruciating pain that she was still there.

Where was he? Where were they? Where was her husband?

The seeds of depression and loneliness and of being forgotten were growing in her mind as her forehead burned. What were they doing to her? Her vision was blotted then blurry, the rough hands upon her face and along the cut upon her forehead were being slowly processed by her mind. Rubbing in? Muck? Poison? They were poisoning her? It seemed a fire burned across her brow. They were poisoning her.

Lashing out in desperation she felt one of her feet come soundly into contact with an object that staggered back from its unexpected blow. Again she kicked out and writhed, struggling to get her hands free, desperate to wipe the evil substance from her wound. Having previously thrown her head back she brought it forward again, twisting with the pain. It connected with the head of the goblin leaning over her. Tears were welling in her eyes as the pain on her forehead became unbearable. Inspired, Celebrían butted wildly again. There was a roar of outrage or pain, she did not know nor care but there was a roar. Heart hammering Celebrían wriggled and writhed, flailing wildly out at the vague shapes before her blacking vision. Them, the wall, herself it did not matter what she hit, just to lash out, something must work, something must make it stop. One last kick and then they were upon her. No.

A feral scream issued from her lips and then Celebrían’s mind lost all but survival. She dug in with her nails, biting and scratching. Her strength was leaving, her last reserves drying up. Feebly trying to roll over Celebrían felt the onslaught subside. Hurried steps and then she was left, her ragged breaths the only sound in the now empty chamber.

Why have I not died?

By the time the swift scuffle at the chamber entrance occurred and the two figures walked in, their eyes filled with horror and shock Celebrían had been long from consciousness and would not have heard the sorrowful cry of “Oh mother!”

She is lain on the bed in front of him. His beautiful wife. Yes, still beautiful despite it all. Despite the emaciated figure, the ragged hair, the bruises and the bandages. Her body was a testament to what had happened to her, he need not ask, from the poison, the slash upon her forehead, the broken fingers to the ripped and damaged flesh on her feet. All this he had healed, had set on a path to recovery…but she was not returning to him. Watching the slight rise and fall of her chest, Elrond clenched back the tears that were gathering at his eyes.

He could save her, and he would.

Taking hold of her hand with the least bandaging and breaks, he began to slow his breathing to match her own. Closing his eyes he called out to her as their minds met, steeling himself and not giving away any sign of fear or horror at the images that he saw Elrond called out to his wife.

“Celebrían,”

Then he saw her, crouched and rocking in a corner, hair shielding her face. The room he was in was a shadow, not so much that he could not see the guard pinned to the wall and the blood that dripped to the floor. Weaving thoughts of warmth and light Elrond continued to move towards his wife, gently calling her name again. In her mind she was unharmed, though smaller and looking all the more defenceless.

“Go away,” at last there came a shaking response, voice wavering and terribly quiet.

Forcing the pain he felt deep down, Elrond continued to build up an image of light, reaching his wife he crouched slowly down in front of her.

“Celebrían, its me. I’ve come to save you, I am here,”

“Its no use, there is no escape. You’re gone.” Voice listless, she looked up and around the room. Elrond was assaulted by the horrific images of her memory and mind that seemed to spin from every corner of the cell.

Face pushed roughly against the grimy floor, chocking more than breathing. A whimper escaping as rough hands grasp and the arm is twisted back. Screaming now, striving to wriggle free. Laughter as fingers are bent further and further back. Such agony. A splintering crack sounds louder than anything else in her ears.

Firmly ignoring the memories and his wife’s blank tone Elrond spoke again,

“Of course there is escape, look:” he gestured towards the image of a path he had created, sunlight waiting at the end “Please love, come with me, I can save you.” Managing to meet her eyes he held the wavering and terrified gaze, willing her back with his all.

Hesitantly Celebrían held out her hand and on unsteady legs stood and walked with her husband towards the light.

With a great gasping breath Celebrían sat bolt upright from where she had lain, eyes darting wildly around the room. And then seeing her husband, she flung her arms about his neck despite all the pain it caused her body and finally awake she cried and cried.

Carried by Elladan whilst Elrohir pulled the chair back ready, Celebrían tried to find a smile for their banter as they took her to where a breakfast was set out. Her strong and brave boys who went down to rescue her, her brave boys down in that terrible and reeking pit! Celebrían’s focus drifted even further from the conversation as she imaged the sight they would have seen. The shame of it! Lying in the filth and mess, most likely even the blood too. How many had they killed to find her, all they had risked. On the verge of being overwhelmed by her swirling emotions Celebrían concentrated hard on the words of her sons.

Lowered into the chair she looked at the thin porridge in front of her. Slowly, mechanically she began eating, the smallest spoonfuls taking an age to swallow. It had to be this way; the first meals she had eaten since waking her stomach had rejected after the period of starvation she had suffered. Across the table and about the room as they tidied Elladan and Elrohir insulted each other playfully, behaving like the two children of their youths. Knowing these antics were for her Celebrían smiled, though it did not feel right.

The hazy afternoon and the gentle breezes found Celebrían and her daughter sitting upon a veranda, swathes of fabric around them and needles in hand. From time to time Arwen glanced worriedly at her mother whilst Celebrían stitching along the hem did not seem to notice, her gaze listless and eyes empty. Her healing fingers made the work slow, each stitch was an effort. Celebrían did not need to look at Arwen to know the complex and fanciful embroidery that graced her dress, to look would only be to make the knowledge she would never again be able to create such patterns worse. Though mending, her fingers would never be deft enough to manage, as if to cruelly prove the point Celebrían pricked her finger with the needle for the fourth time that afternoon. She watched the blood seep out of her skin; it was nothing. It was nothing compared to the blood which dribbled from her guards lips as he was speared to the wall. Nothing compared to the slick battlefield where she had been waylaid in the pass those months ago, where she had been forced to walk over the bodies of orcs and elves alike.

Her thoughts turned abruptly: what was the pointing creating something beautiful anyway when it could be so easily destroyed? Eyes roaming over the treetops and the beautiful buildings Celebrían wandered would it last? She knew now that everything could be so easily broken, just like her fingers had been, in one rending snap.

“Mother” a pause, “Mother please,” Arwen’s pleading words came like an echo to Celebrían, who shaken from her morbid thoughts turned to look at her daughter whose eyes brimmed with tears. Allowing Arwen to take her hand Celebrían watched her daughter wipe the blood whilst a tear or two rolled down her face unchecked.

“I am sorry!” Celebrían sighed, embracing her weeping daughter, “I am fine, I am fine,” she whispered into her daughters ear as they rocked slightly back and forth.

Steadily she moved, taking slow and careful steps the upward slope had not beaten her thus far. The bandages on her feet and the large cushioned shoes she wore still could not ease the pain of her ripped skin. Elrond had not even been able to tell her the damage and she had seen his face, normally so guarded when healing, she had seen the emotions beneath when he changed the bandages and rinsed the wounds each day and night. So still she continued moving slowly onwards, grasping branch or trunk where she could to ease her steps. Then with the moonlit brow of the slope in sight the dirt and ground shifted slightly beneath her unsteady feet and she was brought to the ground.

Lying face down and propped slightly on her arms Celebrían let forth a bitter cry of pain and sorrow. Was everything unreachable to her now? All she had wanted was to have visited that sacred place where Elrond had asked for her hand all those years ago, when he had told her of the first time he had seen her and how he had held back his feelings and words then until a more suitable time and how he had thought of her until that time came. In that moonlight where he had proposed it had been a different Celebrían she thought and at that knowledge immediately cried.

It would never be the same. Nothing ever could.

Looking up at the sky in misery in a broken voice she uttered “Why didn’t you take me? Why didn’t I die?!”

Her shoulders sagged in defeat and in those moments of utter depression Celebrían had not noticed her husband moving down from the top of rise, though when he reached her and gently helped her to stand again Celebrían saw in his face that he knew she intended to leave. Finding herself in his fierce and familiar embrace she gripped the front of his robes as she wept.