[Estelyn Telcontar]

Stabbing pain forced Estelyn back into cruel consciousness. She struggled to open her eyes, trying to remember where she was. The reddish reflection of a flicker on the rough stone wall pierced the darkness and caused her to turn, wincing, to its source. A small flame sputtered in the heap of stones and rubble that was now where the tunnelway had been. She had not the strength to wonder what had happened, but with a rush of concern, she remembered her companion. Her gaze searched the surroundings. There lay a prostrate body, motionless, ragged clothing stained both red and black. Then the flame went out; she was alone in the dark.

Sorrow overwhelmed her, mingling with pain and despair. Sobs racked her body and tears flowed hot and salty over her cold, scratched cheeks. Accusing questions flooded her mind: Why had she not insisted on getting help? Should she not have recognized the trap into which they had walked? How could she have been so presumptuous to think that they could solve this riddle by themselves?

Suddenly she realized what the closed tunnel meant; the danger from Mordor was past, at least for this time. The Seventh Star and the White City were safe for now. She knew her friend well enough to be certain that he had taken that risk willingly. He had brought her to safety, yet how should she continue, leaving him behind?

Weariness finally overcame her and she slept, giving in to the cold numbness of her limbs, no longer caring to move.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With a start, she awoke and attempted to struggle to her feet as she heard the rustle of movement near her. Had an orc survived? Her instinct prompted her to flee, but a wave of pain and dizziness caused her to sink back to the ground.

“Estelyn?” a voice called, weak but familiar.

“Rimbaud!” she gasped. “You live?”

“Aye,” he responded, “this head is to hard to be easily cracked by mere stones.” He heard a sound that was half laugh, half sob from her direction. Concerned, he crawled in her direction. “You are hurt; we need to get help. Do you think you can walk?”

“I will attempt it,” she answered. “But how shall we find the way in the darkness?”

“There is only one way we can go,” he said simply. “Yet I wish I had a light, so that I could see how your wound fares. The arrowhead at least is still in it.”

“It does not bleed overmuch,” she stated. “And I would rather go with you than to wait here, alone in the darkness.”

He had reached her side and stretched his arm out toward her. Gently, he cupped her head in his hands, relieved to feel the life in her. Then he grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet as gently as possible. Supporting her with one arm and reaching out to feel their way with the other, he stepped forward. Their progress was slow; though the Princess said nothing, he could hear her strained breath and knew her to be in pain.

Soon the ground became more even; they had reached the older part of the tunnel. Yet they could go no faster, for Estelyn’s strength waned more and more. Their eyes had grown accustomed to the blackness that surrounded them; it mattered not whether they were open or closed. Yet the force of habit caused the Innkeeper to look, and he realized that there was a lessening of the darkness, hardly noticeable.

Rimbaud remembered the passage to the outside and steered to the left. Feeling the wall, he found the hidden turn. The ground sloped steeply upwards. The exertion was almost too much for Estelyn; as the light of day grew clearer, he could see that she was hardly conscious. Fresh red stains were visible on her cloak, where she pressed it to her side. Finally they reached the opening. Never had the pale evening sun seemed such a welcome sight to Rimbaud. He laid his companion on the ground carefully, then looked around. Dusk was approaching, the pale sun sinking below the treetops.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]