Chapter 17: Desperate Places

Legolas' eyes filled with horror and Faramir could not help but gasp. The shock of unveiled terror on the face of a being who never showed fear was frightening. What was occurring he could not know, for no words came from the Elf, only the stricken expression etched into those blue eyes. It was enough to tell the Prince that his friend was in an agony of some sort. Legolas fought, his eyes vacantly seeking an escape while what little control was left of his physical being writhed forcefully against his bonds. The torture was grueling, and Faramir cried out in pity for the helplessness and torment the Elven Lord endured.

Faramir saw the sheen of the knife from the corner of his eye. He grimaced at the blade, snarling a guttural curse at the Romany who held it. He would fight this. Outnumbered or not, he could not bear to see his companion suffer. With the skill of a seasoned warrior he lunged, surprising the man who tried to hold him and sending the blade away with the assault. He wrestled with coordinated moves, spinning and pressing the Romany to the ground. In quick measure he had the hands of his foe cuffed from behind and used the man's bodyweight in aid to confine him. He straddled the fighting form, pinning and holding him. With a raised fist he struck out, hoping to stun his victim enough that he might take on the real assault. Faramir's mind raced ahead, letting shadow memory take over as he visualized the next step. He had need to push back the girl and old woman, breaking the contact that sent Legolas into wretched misery.

A blow to his head from the rear by a closed fist sent Faramir off-balance and toppling over. The sound inside his head was a dull thud. He winced as black spots crept into the corners of his vision. Shaking it away, he rolled on instinct to avoid another strike and to maneuver into a position of readiness. From there he would launch off against his attacker. But before he could truly recover from the strike, he felt a pair of strong arms pin him back. Gasping at the sudden halt in his progress, the Prince tried to fight, growling low and struggling with terrifying ferocity, grappling with the knowledge that he had not ended the terrible thing happening to Legolas. The two women had gone on, despite his battle with his captor, oblivious to anything but the torture before them. His efforts had been futile and he screamed out in rage. Suddenly Faramir found the knife at his throat again and he knew in his captured position he would only be hurt if he fought further.

Still, they would not suppress his voice if he could help it. "Legolas," he called out. "Fight this! Fight! It is in your mind only."

He watched as his friend arched back from the touch of the younger woman, flailing his head from side to side to try to escape her probing fingers. Legolas was doing well to evade her though his fears did not appear to abate, only intensifying each time his skin came in contact with her fingers. Faramir again called out assurances, "There is nothing Legolas. All is as was." The Elf answered with a strangled sob and Faramir felt his heart heave in anguish at the helplessness of that sound.

At his words, Bregus opened her eyes and removed her fingertips from Kattica's skull, breaking contact with the girl. It did not stop the younger woman's actions. Bregus glanced up, her eyes lingering long on the Man of Gondor and then she spoke her command without emotion. "Remove him," she said turning away. Her full focus was on the torment of Legolas. Rounding on the scene with the Elf and the girl, Bregus appeared entranced by the wicked task the girl completed at her bidding. He saw her smile.

Faramir felt the hands behind him tighten their grip, pressing him into a barrel chest and physically hauling him off the ground and then down onto his own feet. He stumbled, unaccustomed to the sensation of being picked up and hauled about like a rag doll. The man with the knife stayed glued to his side, the blade close enough to nick him when Faramir wobbled. Coming up on his other side Faramir caught a glimpse of Mattias. The foursome moved away, Faramir dragging his feet and fighting back on the holds around him.

On the other side of the camp, the three men made forward to a place near a highly decorated wagon. Faramir recognized it as the one he had seen Bregus remove herself to the day before. Partly dropped, partly pushed, Faramir found himself pressed against a tree, large in girth. Strategically thinking, he noted that he was on the back side of the wagon, at the outer edge of the camp and facing out toward the forest. No other wagons neared this, and he considered the possibilities of escape from here. He felt the big hands push him around and began again to lunge, more interested in fleeing and addressing Legolas' soft cries than actually attacking, but found himself face-to-face with the knife once again. It seemed this Romany man would not go away. The sheen that caught the edge of the blade reflected white light that matched the smile on the face. It was not a pleasant expression, telling Faramir exactly how much he might enjoy using it.

Faramir gave up his struggle, apologizing in his mind that he couldn't rescue Legolas at the moment. He was only appeased slightly to note that his friend's sounds seemed to ease. He watched as Mattias grasped his wrist and then recognized that it was Gordash who had been the larger man and now too held his wrist. Roughly they grabbed his hands, quickly binding them about the width of the tree. Faramir tried to make eye contact with the men as they worked. A swift glance met him as Mattias' eyes darted to Faramir's face. It gave the Gondor Prince hope and he considered that perhaps his tongue might prove successful here even if it had not worked in pulling the Elf from his prison. Again, Mattias made a sidelong glance at Faramir. In an attempt to garner a conversation of some sort, Faramir began simply. "Why?" he asked.

As if in shame, Mattias looked away, making himself busy checking his own work. At first Faramir was unsure he might answer, but then after long silence he spoke, "It is not our intent to really hurt you. You leave us with little choice."

Faramir could feel his brow furrow in consternation. "What would that mean?" Faramir asked. "Have we committed a crime?"

"Not yet, but soon. There is menace in your intentions." Mattias answered with a confusing look of certainty that didn't match the timidity of his voice.

"Intentions toward what? We have done nothing."

"You entered our camp with weapons at ready. We will not allow you to harm us. We have our families to protect," Mattias said, his eyes growing dark with fear and anger though his voice remained soft.

"But we have done nothing against you or your families. Who has told you that we meant harm? Our only goal on this day was to hunt in the wilds. Deer is our prey and our weapons were only to be used for that. We had no plans to even enter this camp!" Faramir countered.

Gordash spoke out, shouting, "You drew bow against us! You came into this camp seeking to drive us away!"

Vexation darkened Faramir's eyes as he focused his gaze on the burly man, biting his words to remain calm. "Have you been sleeping through all that has occurred? We were driven here by a maddening confusion. Do you have no recollection of the army of men that surrounded us? We had no choice but to enter." Then he turned his attention on the calmer man. "Mattias, it is only Legolas and I! How can you say we had means of forcing you away when we are so hopelessly outnumbered by your kind?"

Mattias started at the words. "How do you know my name?"

"Witchery and deceit!" the Romany wielding the knife shouted.

Faramir blinked, stunned. "You do not recall us from yesterday? How can this be? Mattias! Gordash! We were here at your invitation! We encountered you in the wood, when Yulli stumbled. You do not remember that? What is your recollection then if not for us?" Faramir asked, incredulous that so much had been wiped away. What power could cause such a devious act?

"Do not answer him, brother! He tries to fool us with words! He is a dark witch most probably. Why else would he travel with an Elf?" Gordash growled.

Desperation painted Faramir's next words as he directed them to Mattias. "No! There is deception, that is true, but it comes not from us. We are innocents. Think on this, please! I beseech you! What purpose would we have in attacking you?"

Quietly, Mattias answered, anger coloring his words. "There has never seemed to be need of purpose in the past. Only prejudice. We have been turned away too many times. There will be no more of that. Mother has said so. No one will stop us from seeing through our plans."

Those chill words gave Faramir reason for fright, but he swallowed it quickly, hearing Legolas moan once again from the distance. Countering in the daunting attempt to give reason to questioning a leader who was blindly followed, Faramir said, "And what are those plans? Do you even know? Mattias, Think now. Did your mother tell you we were here to do harm? Did she say that to you? I am telling you it is untrue. And while I can offer no proof that we had no intent to do harm to you, I can say you have equal grounds to prove we did. I would plead with you to believe me! You must remember me! Listen to those sounds! They harm my friend for no reason I can discern! Mattias, please! We have done nothing to you! Make them stop!"

Defensively, Gordash spoke up loudly, "Our people have long told tales of the Elves. They say that their eyes can penetrate the depths of one's soul. He is punished because he dares to look so far."

Faramir could only scoff. Incensed and appalled at the immaterial reasoning in this argument, he answered through gritted teeth, "If that is true, and his eyes indeed see through to the core of one's being, what has he seen in your mother's soul? Why have need to punish if her heart is pure? Why hate the way he looks upon her if there is nothing worrisome to see?" Turning again to Mattias for comprehension and compassion, Faramir said, "Please Mattias! Harm is being done for pointless reasoning. Just tell me tell me what you recall of yesterday."

Gordash came forward, his fist making contact with Faramir's jaw as rage blazed across the Romany features. "He speaks against Mother! Turn away from this harbinger of falsity, Mattias!"

Faramir's head swung to the side, the blow stinging and making his ear's ring. But he would not be turned away. Looking back, he made contact with Mattias' eyes, pleading for the man to see the truth. "Tell me, Mattias. You know this is wrong."

"Cease your words!" Gordash shouted.

"Leave off or feel the wrath of my blade," the other Romany said to Faramir, his eyes darting at Gordash for approval.

But the words Faramir heard were the ones uttered by Mattias. In a whisper, the Romany answered, "I recall nothing."

Faramir choked back a sob of joy at the confession. Small hope lifted his chest with the words. On the other side of the camp, he heard the pleading cries of Legolas, fighting against the darkness and he knew he had need for such hope. Faramir made his own plea. "Please, help me then. A lie infiltrates your mind just as one courses through that of my friend right now. Seek the truth. We are guilty of nothing. I beseech you Mattias. You called us your friends. Prove your word at least is not a lie."

The two other Romany drew near, brandishing weapon and fist. Again Gordash stepped forward. "He speaks of treachery! Listen not to him!" the large man shouted as he landed a punch into Faramir's gut. The Prince doubled over in pain.

"Peace!" Mattias yelled, quickly reaching a hand to each man's shoulder. "Fear not! I will not betray my own people!" Then turning to Faramir, he waited for recovery before saying, "I am sorry, but I must put faith in the traditions of my kind. The puri dai would not lead us astray. She would not lie."

Sadly, Faramir expected as much. What he was asking of the man was a great deal, a sacrifice of magnanimous proportion. Not only was he asking for a betrayal to Romany traditions and standards, he was also asking Mattias to turn away from his own mother. Yet he had had to try. Things had grown quiet where he had last seen Legolas and Faramir dreaded the lack of noise almost as much as he had dreaded the Elf's torment. He spoke up, "Why hold us hostage Mattias? If we are evil, why not just kill us outright?"

In a pitch that intoned a loss of patience and a sort of desperate attempt to accept the situation, the man shouted, "Mine is not to question!"

Then with words that he intended to bite, Faramir shouted back, "Perhaps it is then time you did! Her motives are madness! How can you see it any other way?" Then taking a deep breath, Faramir attempted to calm himself, recovering with simple reasoning. "You claim that the cause for all this is witchery and deceit. On this I would agree. But the only witchcraft I see at play here comes from those among your kind."

"I am sorry," Mattias said, leveling his gaze on the Prince.

Desperately Faramir said, "Try to reason this, Mattias! Use your mind of your own accord. Do not be a puppet to her evil! Try!"

"I am sorry," the man answered one last time then turned and walked away.

****

This torture is not really a necessary thing. At least not for the Elf's sake, she thought. Bregus knew she had him already, and any infliction she placed upon him was merely demonstration that she could. It was an exercise really in what she could exert and the power had come easily. However, she did have a purpose for doing this, though it had nothing to do with teaching this creature from mythic tale to hasten in his response toward rebellion. Truthfully she really cared nothing of the Elf or anything he might say or think so long as he didn't tamper with her plans. His heart was all she desired. Still, he suffered and she enjoyed it. A side benefit it was, for her purposes in tormenting were far more devious than just that of inflicting pain. She did it for the sake of the girl.

Kattica had to be controlled. It did not escape the puri dai that the girl was beginning to grow wary of Bregus' motives. It had been such a short while since this had started, and already the girl was beginning to ask questions and that would not do. Bregus did not need critical debate at this time and she had to find something to hold the girl back distract her from the probe her mind placed on the situation. In the beginning it had been easy enough to snare the young thing, especially since she had not yet tasted the dark. As an innocent, Kattica had been easily swayed merely with the threat to her life and to her family's life. How simple that had been. But now that the girl was discovering the essence of her own dark seed, she was beginning to assert herself, and that was a dangerous hindrance to Bregus' plan.

The girl was indeed strong, stronger even than Bregus had suspected. Obviously, there were benefits to this. Tapping into the girl's hidden powers had not only unleashed Kattica's potential, but it had also done much to replenish Bregus' waning skills. Fortunately for Bregus, the girl was unschooled and did not recognize or marvel in her own abilities. It was only with the elder's tutelage that the girl was finding herself. But she was finding herself too fast and it was Bregus' intent to slow her down. She needed to keep the girl in thrall and she knew that the best way to do that would be to sate the girl with menace. The revelation of black magic was an enticement beyond any threat the elder could offer otherwise. The old woman understood just how delicious the influence of power over another being could be and knew the taste of that might be enough to silence the girl for awhile. She hoped it woould be tempting and prod the girl forward to continue in the study of black magic. And for this reason alone, it was important to give the girl a taste only for the evil within herself. Bregus knew that if Kattica chose to let her goodness win out, then the elder would have a formidable enemy. Touching and releasing the fear in the Elf might be enough to shut off the nagging persistence of morality that poked at the girl's present conscience.

Kattica was a quick study. That was not necessarily a good thing. The influence of the dark arts was a knife's edge of precariousness. With it came the tantalization of power and control. But a certain amount of confidence was also par to the dominance of character in this realm. Controlling the girl's assertiveness was going to be Bregus' hardest task. She had need to feed the girl from spoon strengthened by the dark side of her soul. The torment to the Elf made this easy to supply.

Bregus was weary. It had been a very long day already and it was only morning still. Having sacrificed the night for setting the traps to snare the others, the trade off had been sacrifice of respite. It had been worth it. But Bregus knew she would not be able to go on much longer if she didn't get some rest soon. Especially with the plans she had ahead of her. She looked at Kattica to see what thoughts played on the young woman's face. Could she trust the girl?

Bregus had let go of the girl's soul when she had relinquished her touch, giving everything of the power to her pupil. She stepped away and watched her young protege at work. It brought a smile to the elder's lips as she felt the blackness seep further into Kattica's heart. This was assuring, even if the girl did not appear to be tired. Soon enough exhaustion would kick in. Bregus remembered well her own first discovery of dark power. She had barely closed her eyes for days after. But the sapping that a baby put on its mother might counter that, and the girl would eventually be forced to rest. Bregus was hoping that might happen soon. The elder needed to appease her exhaustion, and she didn't quite know if she could leave the girl alone yet.

She had been thinking about her own dilemma and the girl's questions. Of course she had said nothing to Kattica about her need for the Elf. Had the girl known everything within Bregus' plans hinged on acquiring a live being of Eldar descent and from that an Elven heart doubtless the girl would have rebelled. For without the Elf, none of Bregus' plans, none of it, could be accomplished. This Elf's heart was the key to Bregus' return to youth. He was the key to her impending immortality.

Of course the heart on an unborn child was equally as important in this plan. The beauty of it though was Bregus had two hearts of the unborn children to choose from. How wonderful was that? And again, it had been easy to dupe Kattica into believing her child was no longer at risk. The truth was, after seeing the wife of this Anborn, she knew the woman was not far long in her pregnancy. She was barely showing a belly. What that meant to the old shuv'ni was extraction of that heart would be difficult. She would have a terrible time even locating that pinprick of life within the woman's body, let alone ingesting it. As gruesome as Bregus was, even that made her stomach recoil. No, the better choice was to take Kattica's child.

That solution was doubly beneficial. Not only would she acquire the necessary ingredient to her spell in taking the baby's heart, she would also eliminate her rival by killing Kattica in the pursuit. And even if somehow Bregus did choose that other woman's child over Kattica's, it was only a matter of time before Bregus would kill her daughter-in-law. The girl was too much of a threat to the power of the shuv'ni. Especially now that Kattica was coming into her own.

She reminded herself that Kattica was Mattias' wife, and the child she bore was his. He might actually object to Bregus' plan. She laughed in answer to this fear. Were it yesterday when Bregus felt still weak in her magical strength, this might have been a cause for worry. Today however, this was not the case. Mattias was held well in check. She anticipated no problems in dealing with her son. She smiled to herself. She might even have her son give the killing blow to his own wife. Would that not be a treat?

All that need be done now was to continue to give the girl small measure into the darkness of her soul as a means to distract her until the moment came to act on Bregus' behalf. The time for Kattica's death was not yet due, for the elder had need still of the girl. And for the moment that need meant torturing the Elf. So long as he did not die, she didn't care what befell him just as she cared for none of the others except Anborn. She watched the joyous gleam in Kattica's eye. The bait was taken. The girl supped well from the spoon of which Bregus fed her.

Prone on the ground, the Elf moaned in misery. Bregus smiled.

****

The first thing that came to Gimli's mind was that he could taste dirt.

The second was that he felt both warm air and cool simultaneously.

The Dwarf was not sure how he should feel about either of those things. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with them. Being a Dwarf and abiding in dwellings below ground, both were part of the day to day minutia that was part of his people's lifestyle. There was comfort there. The air's circulation when it met with the breath of outside world as well as the feel of soil and rock beneath him were tangible delights that every Dwarf knew. Neither disturbed him and he could have easily let the sensations go. Yet it wasn't quite right. Something nagged at his mind that he shouldn't be so comforted by his surroundings. It was bothersome to be disturbed so, and with that inner prodding he stirred. Slowly, ever so slowly, he allowed his mind to explore beyond these things that should feel right but did not, though he might normally take them for granted. He could smell the dirt as well as taste it, which told him it was freshly unearthed. But here was something not right about that. The nag grew a little louder and then he realized the reason why. He was laying in it. Laying in the dirt. That made him ponder. Why was he lounging in an area of newly exposed soil? It made no sense to his befuddled mind. He could have easily dismissed it, pushing it away and allowing his thoughts to drift back to more serene moments, but the nag persisted. He should not be reclined in the dirt. Now that he recognized his prone position, he became aware too that his ear pressed the ground. He could hear a slight tremor resonating from nearby. Again, there was combined familiarity and unease in that fact. The earth was moving. The Dwarf was aware that the earth was nearly constantly in flux. There was no surprise in that. But nearby? His mind began to shift as he realized he had more cause for alarm. Earth tremors were usually an indication of danger and the Dwarf knew it would be wise to clear the area until the fault line and projected damage could be determined. This thought was enough to draw his attention to the present and his senses honed in on his surroundings more clearly. And then a new question plagued his thoughts. If he were truly within the structure of a Dwarven hold, why did he hear the birds chirping overhead? Now there was a dilemma he had trouble ignoring. At last he decided this was not right and he knew then he could no longer afford to linger in a twilight state.

That was when he came to know the real source of his problems. With consciousness came pain, and with pain came a throbbing ache at his skull. And with a throbbing ache at his skull came the realization that indeed his circumstances were beyond ordinary.

Still, sensation came to him slowly, just as the slender details of his surroundings had crept into his thoughts while he lay in a semi-conscious state. The pulsing pain at his left temple pushed itself to the forefront of his thoughts as he came to wake. He groaned. And even that hurt. Gimli was not pleased. That was a coherent thought. Progress, albeit painful, was being made.

He dared not move. The tempo of his heartbeat kept time with the drumming throttle at his skull. It made him aware that some injury had occurred, though Gimli was want to know what might have caused it. With utmost patience and need to take it slowly, the Dwarf began to assess his condition starting from his lowest extremities and working his way up. He attempted to move his legs and feet. At first he panicked for they would not budge, but then he realized they were weighted down with something. Dirt? He tried again to budge them and felt them stir. Suddenly, a pain shot through his ankle while loamy soil trickled into his boot and through a tear in his pant leg. Pain was not a good thing. Could it be broken? That would not be a pleasant event though Gimli chose to be optimistic. All he needed to know at the moment was that his leg and foot were still attached. He would find benefit to whatever came beyond that. They were and he would. Time to move on. He settled in, shifting slightly for comfort. His hands? That was easier for those he knew were above ground. Yes, they seemed to open and close on his mental command though he did not exert them far. Arms and shoulders? Attached and moving, though again the motion was small. Lastly he focused on his head and he realized that while the pain at his temple was bad, it had dissipated somewhat while he had taken the time to inventory the rest of his aches. This was definitely a good sign. Optimism was paying off. He decided to take the ultimate risk. He opened his eyes.

The world for a minute was rather blurry, and once he could see it, Gimli decided it matched well the fogginess that invaded his brain. He could see as well as feel that he was laying on a stone and dirt floor, though the place he was in was completely foreign to the Dwarf. Perhaps that was because beyond a halo of light surrounding him, everything else was completely black. Very well, he thought, finding words in his mind to express his opinion, There seem to be no others about who are jumping to my aid. I must be alone and have no choice but to get up and make some sense of this. And with that, Gimli chose to use his curiosity as a key to his recovery. That in itself was enough to give him power to roll over. Carefully.

He started with his legs, working them gingerly, making every attempt not to jar his ankle. He hissed as he methodically pulled his legs out from the dirt, pushing against the rocky soil that buried him. The weight on his ankle caused him to groan but he did not cease his efforts. With patience and persistence he gently eased his legs from the dirt. With their freedom, he was able to roll to his side. The movement gave him better perspective. He could see sky above and now he could understand little better where the birdsong had come. And with that realization a flood of memory came back to him. The hunting trip! That thought alone gave him incentive to rise. How did this come to be? Gimli knew harassment and razzing would follow from his companions if he did not roust himself. No doubt they would discover him, and he intended to appear hale to their eyes, even if such was not the case.

He raised himself on one elbow and felt the world waver with the motion. Overcome, he gave in to the weakness, lowering himself and shutting his eyes to readjust to the vertigo. It took a moment to work past the dizziness and accompanying queasy feeling, but when it passed, he found he had strength enough to shakily rise again. Starting on one elbow, then rolling over to his hands, he brought his knees up beneath him, using them as counterbalance to pull his weight from the ground. He stopped there for a few minutes to rest as again everything began to spin about him. He lowered his head, using what he could will from his mind to concentrate solely on breathing.

Closing his eyes to try to stop the motion, he pulled a deep intake of air into his lungs and allowed time to pass before daring open them again. And grateful he was that he did. Just this modest recovery gave him peace enough to raise his head. The world was still again, and for the first time Gimli came to realize he stood in a pit of sorts. A pit? Had they actually followed his plan and dug a pit? He could not remember any such activity. But then as he continued his survey he realized this space was less like a pit than originally thought. For one thing it seemed far too deep to be of use. For another, it appeared to be quite large and carved mostly of stone. Tentatively, he raised himself to a kneeling position stooping and choosing for the moment not to rise fully on wobbly legs and injured foot. Afraid to move his head too quick for fear that the dizziness would hit him again, he gingerly looked up. The world stayed righted and when he brought his eyes up to meet the sky, he came to realize this was definitely no pit.

"A cave?" he asked no one, but then listened with mild amusement as his voice softly echoed about him. He could feel the heat from the world above drift down on him while the cool air of the cave moved about him. It created a draft of sorts, almost a breeze as the climates came together so abruptly.

And then with a rush the Dwarf's memory of where he should be came back to him again. "Aragorn?" he called out. "Aragorn?" he said again, directing his words to the circle of light above. There was no answer.

****

Arwen coughed as she immediately tried to free herself, spitting out the dirt in her mouth as she shook away the clods raining down on her from the collapsing walls. Her first thought was for him, "Estel?" she called out, hoping he was here somewhere in this confusion of dirt and rubble. She heard no answer, only the continuous sound of dirt falling down on her like water from a shower. It was chaotic, the darkness of the enclosing walls not helping and her attempt to roll away. It would not be an easy thing to do as she found herself curled in a tangled pose against a minor outcrop, her long limbs twisted awkwardly in the embrace of the tight tunnel around her, The pack containing supplies and the lamp had been harnessed over her shoulder and under one arm. In this position, the bag tugged behind her back, half-choking her, half-propping her up. She could feel the awkward implements within it digging into her skin and bruising her already bruised skin.

Her descent had not been a far one, if for no other reason than she had run out of space to fall. The place where she rested in this well, for lack of a better term, was barely a yard wide, and her legs and back had dragged across the muddy walls as she had come to what she thought was its near end. The grating spill had spun and twisted her as she had plummeted down the chute until she had slowed to an awkward heap on this ledge near the bottom of the hollow. She groaned as she tried to maneuver to an upright position but found this momentarily impossible. She was only half upright, one knee bent downward while the other leg was lodged against the wall, angling upward toward the light. The position, had she been on firm ground and in a direction that was more typical of real action, was one she might have found herself in if she were sitting in a chair with one leg reclined. But here she sat upside down and somewhat wedged into her space by a locked knee and the glue of muddy walls.

Again, she tested her words, "Estel, answer me." A drizzle of dirt found its way into her mouth as she had called him, and she automatically spit it out, focused more on the panic that was setting in by lack of an answer from her spouse than the discomfort of this hole. She tried to right herself so she might assess her situation better. The indelicate pose in which she found herself was made all the worse by the muddy landscape surrounding her. As she found means to twist herself and maneuver free, she slid sideways, propelling further downward. Slowly she descended, her body still askew and uncoordinated. But she panicked as she moved futher down, past the place she had thought was bottom, the walls closing in on her tightly. It was then that she realized the floor was a continuous hole tapering into a smaller cone. Worse yet, it was filling rapidly with the uncompacted and sodden dirt from the tunnel's walls. She could not see its end, the shadows were impenetrable even to her eyes. Quick fear grabbed her. Any movement she made slid her further downward. If she did not stop her own motion, she may have well found herself wedged tightly in this burrow, like a cork in a bottle.

With quick realization, she kicked out her legs and arms, using them to wedge herself into one place before the space grew too tight. She halted her slide, grunting while her legs tangled again, straining her body with twisting muscles fighting against gravity. All the while, fragments of earth continued to shower down on her, blinding her as particles fell into her eyes and face, covering her hair and body and making the confusion of this strange situation even more difficult to comprehend. But at least her motion was stopped, though that seemed of little solace as the dirt walls showed no signs of relenting their fall. With dread she came to realize she may well still be buried if the soil pouring in on her did not end quickly. She said a silent prayer as she shut her eyes to her most certain demise.

Perhaps the Valar had heard her plea, for it was only moments later that the tumble of soil tapered off. She sighed a sob of relief, hesitant to do more than that. Her eyes were still sealed and she could feel a blanket of dirt covering her body, but she knew she needed to act. Her husband was here someplace in this hole doubtless unconscious, and she was dreadfully fearful that she knew exactly where he might lay.

She opened her eyes to the slowing topple of dirt. She was facing up, and she could see skyward and the light radiating off the hole from above. The walls were uneven and jutted here and there with rocks and roots. It was very narrow, maybe only eight feet at the top, and tapering downward to nothing. She judged the distance of her fall as only twenty or so feet, which she knew if she could recover herself and her husband, was not such a ominous distance to cover. But even more assuring she realized for the first time that this hole did not taper straight down, but more at an angle, somewhat perpendicular to slant of the hillside. This gave her courage for she knew they might be able to climb out if they could once again get their footing.

They. They meant she and Aragorn. Her panic never left her. It had not even been a minute since she had fallen into this space and yet it seemed grueling hours had drifted by. She knew well what condition he might be in should she find him. Nay, she needed to find him. Now!

With little more hesitance she began to move her legs slowly, stepping with one foot and then the other down the mud wall to try to pull herself into a more upright position. With her fingers, she grappled the muddy wall, finding little but gravel and muddy clay to latch onto in case she might slide downward again. She knew soon enough she would have need to make her descent there, further into that crevice, but that struggle would be on her terms if she could help it.

Knowing there was nothing else to use as a handhold, she clawed with bare hands at the slippery walls, pushing one hand firmly into the clay until it went just past her wrist. She looped her submerged fingers as best she could maneuver, making a curve with the bend of her wrist. Her muscles quaked with the force, pushing against ground made harder by the earth's pressure. She lowered her legs, letting her body fall with gravity toward the lee side of the tunnel. Immediately she began to slide again, but this time, with the handhold, she did not fall further.

She knew there was more distance to cover, she only hoped that he was not far from her or buried too deeply. Time was working against her, and she knew she needed to reach Aragorn before that time was up. He was down there, further in the hole, possibly covered whole by the dirt that had tried to blanket her. If he was, he was dying, being buried alive. The unkind thought of the earth taking her love angered her and gave her strength and courage to fight it. Her mind snapped clearly in the actions she must take and she called out softly "I am coming, my love! I am coming!" hoping against hope that she would find him before it was too late.