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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 1 year ago

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Meet me where the cliff greets the Sea (part 1)

Elendil x reader

Title inspired by a verse of Elan by Nightwish. This fic is dedicated to @lady-of-imladris.

*****

The market was a fascinating place when you were a little girl: so full of things to look at and of people to meet, and exotic goods brought from merchants ailing from far away lands; foods and fabrics you had never seen before, tools and other objects whose use you could not even guess, live animals sold for company or work whose calls blended in the air, whose masters sometimes allowed you to pet them and that every time you begged your mother to buy, even though you knew your house was too small to keep a sheep... or a horse... or a pig. And then smiths and potters and tailors and scribes who had set a stall away from their shops, and the fortune teller who claimed to be able to foresee a man's future from his hand and that you were at the same time eager and too scared to consult, even though she only accepted adults as clients, vendors and buyers haggling over the prices, women arguing over who had seen a precious silk first, so many scents and different languages blending in the air...

You loved it, even when you were too young to have coin of your own to spend, you loved the excitement in the air and to have so many things to see and discover, and when your mother had to go you always asked to accompany her, even though it meant helping her carrying her purchases back home; you liked to play ball with the other children in the city's squares, swimming at the small beach near your home and having an outdoor meal in the woods surrounding the city, but had someone asked about your favourite place in the city, your answer would have been rapid, and confident: the marketplace!

Now things are different; completely, dramatically so, even, and not just because you have coin to spend and are old enough to consult a soothsayer, should you desire, and the reason why your heart is pounding so hard your chest hurts is not joy, or excitement: is fear, a fear so overpowering you have to force yourself to think clearly, and the anguish of being too late, even though you promised a reward to the captain of the ship had he brought you to your destination in two days less than normal.

It cannot be too late. It simply cannot. Not after everything I have done, and everything we had promised each other. This is not the end, it is not, I do not accept it...

It is wishful thinking, nothing more, since the danger the person you are looking for is in is a reality your hopes and prayers cannot change or improve, but even so, you force yourself to remain lucid and vigilant; you have been searching for him for more than six months, your hopes fading like a dream at dawn every time you felt close to your goal, but your determination has been strengthened, rather than abated, the longer and the more desperate your search became. Your every interest, every thought or feeling in your heart, everything you cared about, has disappeared, replaced by a single, fierce desire, a need, in the face of which everything else, including yourself, loses meaning. You have to find him, free him, and bring him back home; and you are ready to kill, and to die, for it.

This is why you barely pay attention to your surroundings as you move among the narrow streets and alleys of the marketplace, in a city you have reached only a few hours ago, the heart of Draiwen, a kingdom Númenor has long been at war with. A few vendors you have just passed catch your attention for a moment, especially the beautiful fabrics a seller is showing a potential client and that would be perfect for a dress you had in mind to have made for your daughter, but you quickly put that thought away, as well as the interest the stall of a goldsmith -you had a pair of earrings exactly like those!- arouses for a moment in your heart, and the brief, instinctual desire to stop to inspect the wares of an animal seller, a bearded man surrounded by a symphony of chirping, barking and bleating. The marketplace of the city has nothing to envy that of Armenelos, and you suspect some goods on sale here have never been seen in Númenor, but your interest does not lie on weapons, earthenware or a new pair of boots; there is only one good you aim to buy, and you are ready to burn the city down to achieve your goal.

Six months after the end of the war, the worst, and least safe, thing you might do is presenting yourself as hailing from the kingdom that has inflicted a crushing defeat on Draiwen's army and naval force; this is why you are doing your utmost to speak without an accent, have exchanged your coin with the local currency, and made sure your clothes do not betray your origins. Even so, you are still anxious, and look discretely around you to make sure no one is paying attention to you, as you walk, easily blending into the multi-colored, ever-shifting crowd.

"You said it was close." you state in the end, turning to the two men who the captain has lent ti you as your bodyguards and porters, and who have silently followed you. They do not know who you are and what you are searching for, and they probably do not care, only aiming to earn a few coins to spend on ale and dices before they need to set sail, but still, you do not trust them, like you do not trust their captain -you paid him for his services, but your kingdoms have been at odds with each other since before the two of you were born, is it so absurd to fear he wishes you harm?- or anyone who might have served in the army that has threatened to invade your home and forced your husband to fight in a war that has taken him away from you "Are you sure you can find this merchant? I feel like we have been walking for hours."

The men simply answer you will reach your destination soon, and so it is; a couple minutes later, as you pass the stall of a fruit vendor who is defending the quality of his persimmons against the protests of an unsatisfied client, a new scent reaches your nose: it is acrid, almost sour, and it needs no words to speak of fear, and desperation, and hopelessness.

It is the scent of slavery.

The merchants of flesh occupy an area of the market just like any other seller, their work stations close to make it easier for potential buyers to compare the various items, without any formal separation from the colleagues who deal in farming tools, bread or candles. The sections reserved to each vendor is delimited by lines drawn on the pavement, club and dagger-armed guards patrolling the area and occasionally striking a slave who seems ready to rebel or even just does not appear appropriately subservient. There are men and women, some barely out of their childhood and others old enough to barely stand; there are also -and the mere sight is so painful you have to divert your eyes- a few children, held in their parents' arms or sitting on the ground. Many carry the signs of the abuse they received; it is easy to see, since most slaves are barely clothed, men and women wearing only a loincloth to allow the new master to inspect their purchase, and a young man is ordered to disrobe to show exactly what the potential buyer, an older woman accompanied by a few giggling friends, is paying for. Some slaves are sold as labourers, to toil in the fields or in a mine; some women are destined to clean and cook for their masters; some, especially the younger ones, might end up sold to a brothel or becoming their masters' bedslaves, and the children born of those unions would be slaves as well, their life and death in the hands of their masters, their bodies someone else's property, their very fëa forced in chains, exploited until life itself became a burden...

The law of Númenor has declared every form of slavery illegal centuries before your birth, and while you were aware the practice still existed elsewhere, it is the first time you see it with your eyes. Suddenly you feel unable to breathe, pity and instinctive fear and a guilt you know you have no reason to feel but that still makes you unable to meet the eyes of any of these poor souls, burning in your heart. If the Valar assist you, you will find your husband and bring him away from here, but what will become of the others, only Eru knows...

Most of the slaves keep a neutral expression, stony, and whether it comes from defiance in the face of a fate some might judge worse than death, or hopelessness due to that same state of things, who can say; the eyes of some of them follow you as you pass, and -the most pitiful thing- a couple smile shyly, as if they were trying to attract your attention and have you buy them. Do they think a woman would be a kinder master? Doubtful, since there are at least a dozen others of your sex examining the slaves, their demeanour as avid and impassible as that of their male counterparts. Or there is something in you that inspires trust, hope, in those who have not an ounce left?

As always when you are sad or upset, your hand moves to touch the necklace you wear, the same you have never taken off ever since you received it. It was your husband who gave it to you, when you first started courting; a single, large and perfect pearl hanging from a simple silver chain. You were still so young back then, and since you were not married yet it would have been improper for him to gift you one of the jewels belonging to his family's fortune, but tradition was not the only reason: he paid the chain with the coin of his wage, and found the pearl himself, swimming near a secluded gulf where according to a fishmonger friend of his, the largest oysters might be found. He knew how little you cared for his family's reputation and wealth, and he wanted to express he would always take care of you, with the very strength of his body if need be, and that just like silver is one of the few metal that are not corroded, nothing would ever tarnish the love the two of you share. In the years that followed you received many precious gifts from your husband, not to mention the ones that formally become yours on the day of your wedding, since your mother-in-law had passed away years before, but nothing is more precious for you than the simple pendant that you wear every day, hidden under your dress of tunic if necessary, as a sign of the commitment you and him shared, and the love nothing, not even the will of the Valar or death itself, can break...

As always, touching the silver chain is enough to make you feel stronger, and more in control of yourself; you avert your eyes from those of the slaves, promising yourself that, if the coin you brought will be enough once you have ransomed your husband, you will buy and then set free as many of them as you can, and keep walking, finally reaching the man -in a broad sense; heartless scum would be a more exact definition- you were looking for.

He is roughly your age, comfortably sitting next to a small tent raised to shield him from the heat, with a scroll in his hands. There are only three slaves in his enclosure, neither of whom look remotely like your husband, and your heart sinks -were you given inexact information, for the umpteenth time since the beginning of your search? Or has he been sold already, which might make it infinitely harder for you to buy him back?- before you realize that, like a potter would keep some of his best vases and jars on a shelf behind the counter, those three probably represent a sample of the merchant's wares, selected for lack of space.

You already hate him, just like you despise every man or woman who earns their living selling their own race, but you force yourself to hide your disgust, and politely greet him.

"Good day to you, mistress. How may I serve you?"

"I am in need of one or two slaves for my farm, to work the fields. Do you have someo... something that might interest me?"

"I am sure I do. If you need laborers, perhaps someone like him would do."

The merchant points to one of the three slaves chained a few steps from him, each of them with a wooden tablet hanging from the neck, which illustrates the price and a few key characteristics. The older man at the centre is the most expensive, since he -apparently- is a physician who served both in peace and in war, particularly capable in assisting during childbirth; then there is a woman, an expert home-maker who appears to be at least five years older than what she is supposed to, maybe to make her more palatable as a bedslave. The third is a man of your sons' age, tall and robust, the wounds on his skin betraying a past as a soldier. Unlike the other two he looks straight at you, eyes vacant but for a flicker of resentment he seems unable to hide and that fills you with shame, even though you know you do not deserve it.

The slave receives a nod from his master, and silently steps forward, as much as the chains around his naked ankles allow him; his wrists are also enchained.

"Well? Is this man what you are looking for, mistress?" the merchant asks, now walking next to you; he is polite and attentive, as it is expected from a vendor in the company of a potential client, and there is nothing unpleasant or... unnatural in him, something that expresses the cruelty and the disdain he must feel - how could he not, given his trade? He is simply a man, a foreigner but beyond this not so different from so many other men you know, not so different from you, and this is maybe the scariest, most terrible thing you have ever had to come to terms with. "He is young, as you see, and docile; you may have someone instruct him and he will learn."

You admit he is the type of slave you are interested in purchasing, but that does not mean you will buy the first man you are shown. "Do you have anyone else like him?" you inquire, turning to face the merchant; you are acting, in a sense, playing a part not unlike the performers who entertain a crowd in a square or in a theatre, and unfortunately this is not something you have ever done before, not even as a young girl who pretended to be a warrior or a wizard as she played with her friends. Moreover, according to your parents, you have always been a terrible liar, and while you doubt the merchant will care about what you intend to do with the slaves, as long as you pay for them, what if he realizes he is important for you, more important than any other person on Arda excluding the children he gave you, and raises the price? What if he asks more than you can afford? The amount of coin you have brought with you is considerable, more than you have ever carried and way more than you feel comfortable having on your person, even though the bag is hidden by your cape, but...

You cannot lose him, especially not because you cannot simply go home and take more gold to give him and reach the requested price. After all, no one will ever be willing to pay for your husband more than you; the deal is in the interest of the merchant as much as in yours. It will be all right, you comfort yourself; you just need to remain lucid, and in a few hours, you will be together once more, and will have left this horrible place behind you.

"I was thinking about an older man, actually." you add, in your most casual tone.

"Older, mistress? But you told me you mean to have him work as a labourer." the merchant expectedly objects. You tell him that the slave you look for is of course healthy and vigorous enough to toil in the fields and take care of other manual tasks, but you have found mature men to be more serviceable, faster in learning and more docile when they receive orders; the only slaves that ever tried to rebel or refused to obey in your house were stubborn youths.

"I see." the merchant answers with a smile; he is probably wondering why a father or a husband have sent a woman to purchase the slaves, but he remains gracious and considerate in his desire to help you "I do believe I have what you need, if you are so kind as to come with me."

You simply nod, and your two bodyguards silently follow you and the merchant as he, having ordered his guards to keep an eye on the slaves while he is away, leads the three of you away from the marketplace.

"Where do you hail from, mistress?" he asks, the casual tone of someone who simply wants to converse as you walk, to pass the time, and maybe this is exactly what he means to do, and maybe not.

You answer mentioning a kingdom Númenor does not have a close relationship with, and famous for its agricultural production: you are supposed to manage a farm, after all.

"Ah, a lovely place! I have been there once, many years ago. Is this your first visit to Draiwen?"

"It is. I am... visiting a friend." you explain, since your purported homeland is ten days ride away and it would make no sense to make such a long journey only to buy a single slave "And my husband asked me to procure one or two new labourers for our farms, since Draiwen's slave market is larger than ours."

"I see. Well, here is my lot. I am sure you will be satisfied."

If you thought until now that the scent of the slaves' fear and desperation was unpleasant, it is nothing compared to the horrible stench that hits you, as violent as a slap in the face, as you near what is essentially the open warehouse of the flesh merchants. The area in front of you is larger than Armenelos' plaza, but even so, it struggles to contain the multitude of slaves waiting to be needed. Here as in the marketplace, each group is separated from the others by wooden fences not unlike those raised to keep the sheeps from wandering; here as in the marketplace, armed men patrol the area of their masters, making sure the slaves do not cause trouble. Here as in the marketplace, men and women of every age, from those who have barely learnt to walk to those who can no longer do it unassisted, wait to be inspected and sold.

The day is warm and sunny, even too warm for a cape had you not decided to wear one anyway to hide the purse with your gold and another object hanging from your belt, but the stench is not simply due to perspiration, dirt, or even urine given that you doubt the masters would allow the slaves to walk away to relieve themselves behind a tree. It is something different, putrid, difficult to describe but so intense and nasty it makes your eyes water... the smell of desperation.

There must be thousands of slaves, but the merchant moves unhesitatingly guiding you and the two men behind you to his post, where a couple of guards have just finished using their clubs on a man.

"What happened?"

"He meant to escape, sir. He had a rock in his hand and was trying to break the chain at his feet."

The poor soul is laying on the ground, almost too weak and pained to moan, bruises already forming on his belly and legs; your heart stops beating for a moment as you catch a glimpse of brown hair and large shoulders, but the slave does not have your husband's prodigious height, nor, you realize when the guards rudely get him back on his feet, his luminous blue eyes. It is not him, you realize, and the relief filling your heart is so intense your knees go weak... which does not mean, on the other hand, that your husband is still unscathed after six months of captivity. What have they done to him, what abuse or torture was he subjected to in order to break his spirit...?

Meanwhile, the merchant is chiding his guards for what they have done to the would-be fugitive... only a few days before the crown prince himself has sent word he would visit the marketplace to choose a few new slaves for his household; the slave is one of the master's finest, literate and a capable warrior, and could be sold for a large sum: in the state he is now, who would buy him? Incidents like those have their use, since the slaves need to be reminded what occurs to those who try to escape, but if they had to pummel one of them, the guards should have chosen one of the least expensive.

"Now, mistress." he adds, turning to you -one instant too slow to notice the horror and the hate on your face; you do not even know the name of this man, and still you would not shed a tear seeing him choke on his own blood- and smiling once more "Allow me to show you my wares."

A brief order is given, and the slaves quickly assemble in a line, shuffling among the clangor of their chains to march in front of you, slowly enough to allow you to examine them, and their master to present you the merits of each: this one was a farmer, so you would not have to teach him the job; another is particularly strong, which makes him suitable for the most strenuous tasks; the next can read and write, which would make him useful should you need a bookkeeper or a clerk...

As expected from a capable merchant, he seems to know all of them by heart, even though there are not less than eighty men slowly being presented to you. Or maybe he is making the whole thing up, you reflect as you pretend to listen and feel as if the world had started working backwards; usually you are the one who slowly strolls among the stalls looking at the various goods on sale, while now it is the items themselves parading in front of you.

A few of the slaves try to attract your attention, showing their muscles or bowing their head in a show of submission; you feel unworthy of being in their presence, but you force yourself to remain as stoic as you can and glance at the men slowly approaching, hoping, begging to see a familiar face...

And finally, when there are only a handful of slaves left and your hopes are reduced to the flame of a candle, it happens.

"Hey, you; keep walking." one of the guards orders one of the slaves, who had suddenly stopped, forcing the ones behind him to do the same; the man obeys, barely noticing what he is doing, because his eyes -those eyes as blue and deep as the Sea, more luminous than the star of Eärendil his ancestor, those eyes that can read your mind and your heart as easily as the best-written scroll in the Hall of Lore, those eyes you have fallen in love with- are firmly fixed on you, just like yours cannot leave his form.

Elendil! Such is the intensity with which your beloved's name explodes in your mind, for a moment you are almost certain you have actually shouted it, revealing you know him and potentially ruining any chance you had to bring him home. Thank Eru you did not, and no one has noticed the brief glance you have shared; you briefly smile at him, hoping to reassure him, and then force yourself to move your eyes to the men being presented before him; finally, when the slave immediately preceding your husband is in front of you "Stop now." you ask, and the man obeys "What can you tell me about this one?"

The merchant, who had grown both concerned and annoyed as he saw you pass over his best slaves without a word, sighs with relief and rushes to exalt the talents of the man, describing his strenght, his obedient spirit, and the many ways you could put him to work in. You pretend to listen, while actually you are still looking at Elendil out of the corner of your eye.

He is alive, strong and healthy enough to walk on his legs, but captivity has not been kind to him, as it almost never is: you can see how tired and weak he appears, even though there is still determination, even defiance, in his eyes and in the head held high despite the orders and the repeated abuse, and there are bruises and wounds, some months old and some fresh, on his chest and arms and face.

Oh, my love; oh, my lord husband! What have they done to you? How dared they? I will kill them, each and everyone of...

"You are welcome to inspect him yourself, mistress, if that pleases you." the merchants offers, unaware that you would gladly stab him in the heart -an extremely small target, no doubt- once for each of the men he is keeping captive. You do not answer, but step forward to examine the man, feigning interest in his musculature and hands and even his teeth, that he obediently shows you. You then pass to look at the slave before him, pretending to consider a double purchase and asking a few questions regarding his age and abilities that the merchant promptly answers... and then finally, almost distractedly, walk to Elendil.

"And about him, what can you tell me?"

"I am not sure he is what you need, mistress; he is still vigorous for his age, but he was a soldier and a mariner in his homeland, he has no experience in farming. You would have to teach him the job."

"Oh, I can teach him what I need him to do, no doubt." you answer, your practical tone hiding a more personal meaning that only the man in front of you can catch. Turning your back to the merchant and his guards, and still aware of how dangerous it is, you touch Elendil's face pretending to examine his face for bruises or defects; your thumb brushes against his lower lip, and you feel him quiver under your touch. "Where do you hail from, man?"

"He..."

"My homeland is in Númenor, mistress." your husband quickly cuts his master off; he speaks with the humbleness befitting a slave, but a brief smile on his lips betrays his understanding of how that last word, pronounced in that tone, makes you feel. Two can play this game, my wife, he is telling you, as usual between you without the need for words. His blue eyes follow your every move, the intensity of his gaze a mixture of shock, relief, and fear. What are you doing here? How did you find me? You should not have come, it is dangerous...

"Númenor. A land of great mariners, is it not?"

"It is, mistress."

"And are you one of them?"

"I am, mistress. If you own a ship or desire to buy one, I am your man."

Those last words are brazen, even dangerous given the situation you are both in, but you cannot help smiling. Of course you are, you wish you could tell him, and you will, as soon as you have fed him, bathed him, and kissed him long enough to leave both of you senseless, you have always been, ever since our eyes met on the harbour that day, even before we knew each other's name, you are my man and I am your woman, and Eru Himself could do nothing to separate us...

"Interesting."

You need to stop, now. The longer you keep talking to him, the longer you even just pay attention to him, the more you risk the merchant realizes you have a particular interest in this man and raises the price above what you can afford. You should have barely looked at him, and proposed to buy him simply because no one else had caught your attention, but you cannot help it. Having Elendil in front of you, wounded but alive and close enough you can touch him and hear his voice, is like a cup of cold water after a week spent wandering in the desert. For six months you have feared for his safety and for his very life, crying until you had no more tears to spill and sleep had eluded you for many nights in a row; you had feared you would never see him again, doomed to spend the rest of your life alone after so many years of joy and bliss by his side...

But the Valar have listened to your prayers, and your husband is here in front of you; you know how easy it is to fail when the success is within sight and one is prone to lower their guard and abandon caution, and the last thing you want is to have Elendil snatched from you a moment before you are finally together.

This is why you step back, and ask the merchant to show you the last slaves, and the sad parade of chained men resumes shuffling in front of you. Elendil has lowered his gaze, and you wonder why, whether he is forcing yourself not to look at you fearing he could betray himself, or if, like you, he is trying to hide his tear-filled eyes.

Once all the slaves are back in line, the men of your escort accompany you as you inspect some of them, as if you were now ready to choose after examining the whole lot. You linger in front of a few of them, hoping to make the merchant forget the particular interest you have shown Elendil, asking about one slave's health and another's talents as a labourer.

"Are you satisfied, mistress?" the merchant asks in the end; the heat is making him pant under his heavy robes, and he has started fanning himself with his hand, but he has remained friendly and helpful, the image of a good vendor willing to serve a client in any way he can, patiently answering your many, specious questions. There is nothing unpleasant about him, you reflect once more, nothing that betrays the cruelty and the ruthlessness you know dwell in his heart; that does not make you hate him any less, but for some reason you wished it were easier...

"I am. I think I have made my choice." you are quick to answer; he is not the only one suffering because of the heat -you even wore a cape!- but that is not the only reason you cannot wait to seal the deal and leave... in sweet company, preferably "Is there somewhere we can discuss privately?"

You force yourself not to turn to glance one last time at your husband, and at the other poor souls you wish you could all free, and let the merchant accompany you back to the marketplace, your guards following you in turn. Elendil is hidden in the back of the small host of slaves, but you could swear you feel his blue eyes on you, following your every movement, begging you not to abandon him...

I am not; I promise. I will buy you, whatever the price, even if I had to sell the clothes on my back, even if I had to sell myself. Resist, my love, soon we will be together again...

Even with the anxiety clutching at your heart, you cannot help sighing with relief when the pleasant shade of the merchant's tent welcomes you, the temperature more bearable now that you are hidden from the sun. The merchant smile as he removes his outer tunic, and you are not surprised to see a dagger hanging from his belt, the blade longer than the one you are hiding.

The space under the tent is in large part empty, except for a crate, a pair of straw chairs and a small round table with a pitcher and a few cups.

"Are you sure you do not want to remove your cape, mistress?"

"Thank you, but no; I am not staying long, I have to set sail tonight. I will take two of your slaves; the one with the scar on his left cheek, and the one you told me you bought last week." you announce, as you accept the cup of water the man is offering you; you have chosen two slaves who had already worked as farmhands, hoping this will make your cover more believable "How much would you ask for them?"

"You have chosen well; and also, two of my best men. A hundred gold pieces each."

He smiles, waiting. You politely smile back, well aware of what it is expected in a place and a moment like this and determined to give him nothing more than what you strictly have to; the mere thought of this man indulging in his vices -or even worse, buying more slaves to resell- with your family's gold fills you with rage. "I will give give you one hundred and fifty for both."

"They are both strong and hale, good workers who will serve you for many years. One hundred and ninety."

"The one with the scar has the signs of the pox; there is no guarantee he is actually as healthy as you claim. One hundred and sixty."

"Eighty. You are good, but it is my last offer."

"Sixty-five. We both know it is more than enough. Or..."

"Or?"

You have drunk the entire content of the cup in a single gulp, so thirsty you were, and yet you still feel parched, as if the anxiety had taken every drop of water in your body. This is the moment, you think; if you do not play your cards well, it will all be for nothing, and Elendil will be lost forever.

"I might give you the two hundreds you requested, if you add a third man to the deal." you offer, hoping to sound less desperate than you feel, and the merchant's smile turns into a grin: the whole bargain is amusing for him, as well as an art he is surely a master of, but that does not mean he intends to favour you.

"A third man?" he repeats, feigning outrage "But mistress, that would mean gifting him to you."

"Two hundred and fifty, then. What about... one of the two twins?"

"They are worthy three hundred pieces each!"

"Well, then, who would you be willing to give me?"

The merchant mentions four different slaves, who obviously you refuse. "Please, mistress, be reasonable; your request simply makes no sense." he protests as he opens his arms in a gesture of impotence "Nothing would delight me more than sell my slaves to you; I am sure you would be pleased. But you understand, surely, that I have to make a profit out of your purchase, not a loss."

You pretend to think about it, walking aimlessly around the tent and feeling your heart beating so hard it hurts. Brave heart. Soon it will all be worth it. "There was a man among your slaves who had experience as a mariner, was there not?" you finally ask, as an afterthought.

"There was; the man from Númenor. But I do not think he is what you are looking for."

"Not as a farmhand, perhaps, but he might prove himself useful to me in other ways. My... brother is a sea captain, and recently he had to dismiss many of his crewmembers because of a reversal of fortune. I might buy the slave for him, and he would not have to pay him."

It is a good story -a reasonable, believable story- even though you had no more than a few seconds to devise it, but still, you are holding your breath while the merchant considers your proposal, and finally...

"You would take a weight out of my hands, mistress, but in confidence, I do not recommend him; in four months since I have brought him, that man has already attempted to escape three times, sent two guards to the healers' tent after they had tried to discipline him, and my men have found out he was inciting the other slaves to riot. Are you sure you want to burden your brother with a man of his temperament?"

"My brother is more than capable to keep his men in line; and at least, I will not have to worry about what to buy for his next name-day." you answer; victory is so close you can almost taste it "So are we in agreement? The captain, and the other two, for twohundred and fifty gold pieces?"

"We are."

You shake hands, and as the merchant retrieves quill, ink and parchment from the chest to write a brief contract, you take your purse from under your cape and start counting the coin to give him, ordering your hands to stop shaking.

"How did you know he was a captain?"

The bag falls from your hands.

"What?"

"I said, how did you know that man is a sea captain? You called him as such, only a minute ago."

You are facing each other by now, the man in front of you still all smiles and solicitude, but every semblance of actual friendliness abandoned. "Well, mistress?"

"You... you told me that. While we were..."

"I told you he was a mariner; to call him captain is a completely different matter, even though I would not be surprised, since the other slaves have quickly come to look at him for leadership, after I acquired him; he is clearly a man used to command. But how could you know? Either you can read minds... or you knew that man beforehand, and you came here expressely to ransom him."

Silence has fallen in the tent, the sounds and voices of the marketplace attenuated, as if reaching you from many miles away, or if you were underwater. You cannot speak, you cannot move, not even to pick up the gold coins scattered on the ground around your feet, you cannot even think, but one thing is certain: you have been discovered. This man knows what game you are playing, which means that you are alone, or at least vastly outnumbered, in a kingdom that in the last century has spent more time at war with yours than not; he could order his men to seize you and make a slave out of you as well, and then what would become of you? You would never see Elendil, and your children, again... or he might let you go, and simply refuse to let you buy your husband, out of spite for a woman of his kingdom's worst enemy.

In your heart, you could not say which hypothesis would hurt you more.

"Who is he, then? For you, I mean, what makes him so important? Have you been sent from his family to ransom him, or from Númenor's own Queen? Is he a nobleman, a person of importance? Or did you come out of your own free will, mistress? I do not believe he is your kin, you look nothing alike. Is he a friend of yours? No... there is somethting more, is there not? He must be your lover; or maybe the two of you are already wed? If so, he is a fortunate man, to be loved so much that his wife undergoes such a long journey to find him... and since there is so little love in Draiwen for the people of the Land of the Star."

Apparently he is the one with the ability to read minds, or maybe your feelings and thoughts are so evident on your face, even someone who does not know you can guess them. You are lost, you think, and worse even, you have lost Elendil, and being owned by the same master does not mean you would not be separated, and your children will lose you as well as him...

Any moment now the merchant will call for his guards and have you brought to the enclosure, or maybe somewhere else, where he keeps his female slaves or those he still needs to train. Still, any attempt you do not make today is one you will regret tomorrow.

"I always thought the sake of business went above and beyond reasons of patriotism." you state, head held high and voice steady "I have no quarrel with Draiwen, or its people; I did not come into this kingdom to hurt anyone, and I will leave as soon as I can."

"I believe you; but why should I let you go? I await for a visit of the crown prince himself, the day after tomorrow; what prevents me from seizing you and hand you over to him, a daughter of his worst enemy arrived on Draiwen in disguise? He would probably reward me handsomely."

"Probably." you repeat "While I could reward you right now; it would be easy, and no one else would need to know. Name your price, I will take a rebellious slave out of your hands, and in twenty minutes you will be free to forget ever meeting us."

The merchant appears to reflect on your offer as you pick the coins up from the ground; he looks at the bag in your hands, as if assessing the exact sum it contains. "Would you pay me three hundred gold pieces for your friend, if I promised to let both of you go?"

"I would."

"Fourhundred?"

"Yes."

"Fivehundred."

It is almost everything you have. "Yes."

"What if I took it, and you, and kept him?"

"Then I would kill you." you simply answer; he does not know you are armed, and in his eyes you must look the most harmless creature, a simple woman, alone -you are not, but you doubt your bodyguards would actually fight to defend you, and even if they did, they would be two against ten- untrained to war or fight; but he must see something in your eyes, the desperation and the awareness that if you lost Elendil you will have nothing left to live for, or to lose, because he does not laugh, but

"What else do you have to give me in exchange for him?" he asks.

"You can have all of it if you want; it is little more than fivehundred gold pieces."

"You are very generous, mistress. But I was not talking about that; coin is not the only valuable thing that can pay a debt, other types of arrangements also exist - now, do not look at me like that, that is not what I mean; you are a very attractive woman, but I like to keep pleasure and business separated."

"Then what do you mean, exactly?" you ask, confused, and worried, a strange foreboding making you fear you will soon regret he did not order you to take your clothes off. There is nothing, literally nothing in the world you would not do to free Elendil, but... "I have nothing else to offer. I am not a person of importance in Númenor, I am wealthy enough to pay an high price for him but I have no influence or power; what else can I give you? Do you want my earrings? My cape? My shoes? My own hair?"

He is still looking at you. "What is that?" he suddenly asks, pointing at your neck... or rather, to the simple silver chain peeking out from under your shirt.

"It... it is a necklace."

"Show me, please."

"It is worth very little; it is little more than a trinket I received when I was a girl..."

"Show me." he orders you, extending his hand; there is still a smile on his face, and steel in his eyes "Please."

The moment of hesitation before taking off the necklace and handing it to him seals your doom, for good and ill. The merchant delicately takes your most precious possession and examines it carefully.

"Ah! Very pretty. The chain is simple silver, but I had never seen such a large pearl." he says "Is it a childhood gift? Or was it your friend who gave it to you?"

"Fivehundred gold pieces for him." you reply; your self restraint is running out and you know "This necklace is worth next to nothing compared to that. Take my coin and let me leave."

"What if I took only what your friend is actually worth, let us say eighty gold pieces, and the necklace instead?"

"Then you would be a very stupid man, taking only one sixth of what you could."

The merchant admits you are not wrong; and renouncing to a large profit on a whim would be foolish. On the other hand, he is wealthy and successful in what he does enough to indulge in some harmless pleasure, and he has sensed the necklace is much more precious for you than its actual price would suggest.

"So what? You expect me to ransom that as well? Are you actually after my money, and in the meantime you are playing with me?"

"I am not. You see..." He hesitates for a moment, as if explaining his reasoning and his motives to you were important, as if he really wanted you to understand "I am a merchant; I care for gold, whoever pays it, whatever the good purchased, does not matter. At the same time, though... Sometimes, when you are in my trade, you learn that the value of some things does not necessarily depend on the coin that might be exchanged for it. I know that I would not earn much from your necklace, even if I sold the pearl and the chain separatedly. On the other hand, I only need to look at you to see it is precious for you, precious enough you wish you could cut the hand that took it from yours. And this is why I want it, even if it means earning a lower price for my slave."

Silence.

"Do you understand what I am saying, mistress?" he asks, clearly convinced this is the case; and you do understand, and while you thought you could not despise this man any more than you already did, you are forced to reconsider.

"If you want it, you have to give me the other two slaves as well." you reply; it may be petty, other than probably hopeless, but you are determined not to let him have the last word.

The merchant bursts out laughing; he seems sincerely amused. "Not even if all the Gods came down to order me to do it, mistress. Not a chance."

"Two slaves of your choice, then; and I will pay a hundred gold pieces for each of them." you insist; those men mean nothing for you, but spending your coin to ransom as many of them as you can seems the most natural choice, as well as one you know your husband will not reproach you for "Those no buyer will ever want; you will make a profit in any case, will you not?"

The merchant is still smiling; there is sincere merriment in his eyes, and complete and utter lack of mercy. "Sparring with you is amusing, mistress; but we had our fun, and now we have to discuss serious matters."

"I am being extremely serious."

"You are also being extremely naive, and blind to the good fortune you are having and that might run out soon. I will sell you the captain for eighty gold pieces and this pretty trinket; I will also have him bathed and clothed, as a personal favour for you... And I will tell no one, not even to one of the many guards who patrol the marketplace, many of which fought in the war against Númenor, who you are. If I can offer you a word of advice, the sooner you leave this tent, and Draiwen, the better it will be for the two of you."

He is still smiling, but appealing to his good heart and his mercy would be as useless as trying to reason with a famished lion. Wordlessly, you take the agreed sum off your bag and leave the coins on the table, next to your necklace; you brush your fingers against the pearl, the one Elendil had spent a whole day searching because none of the many he had found, and that he had gifted to his fishmonger friend, were large enough, and sufficiently beautiful, for his gift you, and you fell ashamed, even though you could have not done otherwise, and sad, as if you were saying farewell to a person you love.

A few minutes later the merchant offers you a slip of parchment with the proof of your purchase, that you will have to keep until you are safe back in Númenor.

"I need to leave as soon as possible; give him clothes, but there is no time for a bath." you state brusquely; you have your husband back, safe and sound, but then why does it not feel like a victory, rather the opposite? "I will be waiting outside."

"As you wish, mistress. It was a pleasure doing business with you." the merchant answers; you avert his eyes, because you know he is still smiling.

You do not answer, but turn and leave the tent, ordering yourself to walk instead of running.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @hippodameia.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elendil #Elendil the Tall #Elendil x reader #Lloyd Owen #Bellona's stuff

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