[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Pio, can you place this before Menel's post? LMP will be posting again also in reference to this, and so will I.

POST PLACED ~*~ PIO

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Feanor of the Peredhil's post


Kâthaanî Karibzir was remembering, or was she dreaming? It hurt to breathe and she could not tell. She knew that one candle burned beside her: the dim flickering softly illuminated her eyelids, and she heard the music of hoof beats to accompany the rhythm of the flickering pink before her closed eyes.

It had been a diversion. She and Marsillion had ridden away with faithful Tiru to travel to Armenelos... to be the visible group of rescuers. Kâthaanîhad never dreamt that she or her companions would need rescuing.

Like moths drawn to a soft lantern in the deepest hours of the night, they had been so easily caught by the King's Men. She tried to groan at the thought, but no sound emerged. She could sense that she was not alone, though whoever sat by her made no sound. She could not open her eyes... not yet.

A cell. The cold walls glimmered with dampness in the sparse torchlight. She was chained to the wall, alone but for the rats that moved toward her stealthily as she slept. In her mind she shuddered. They had put Marsillion in another part of the dungeon. Tiru had been taken away with him. Kâthaanî had nothing save the tortured screams of those on the Dark Lord's dreaded altar to sing her sweetly into dream at night.

She was cold. Was it dream or waking? Voices made their way softly to her ears. They soothed her, though she could not understand the words. The cold stone wall chafed her skin as she leaned closer, straining for sound. The voice was unknown to her. Did she only imagine the comforting tone that found its way to her ears? The essence of the message... do not despair... it sang a soft counterpart to the groans of the slowly dying. A dream? she could not tell. Hours had run into days that were interchangeable with seconds. The monotony of darkness was broken only by blinding torchlight that guided doomed men to their fate. She wept at the cruel injustice. She wept for her father, a brave man, a good man, more helpless even then her to stem this slaughter, if only because he had had the longer understanding of it. She wept for the malice in the eyes of the guards that brought her meals, denying her even the smallest word of hope or sunlight. She prayed to the Valar for their redemption, though she never spoke.

It hurt. A sharp pain in her chest, just below her ribs. She was wounded. Inexplicable warmth flooded the area with pain as memories sought to repress reality. A hand took hers none too gently. Her chains unfastened from the wall, she was pulled from her cell and ordered to stand. She tried and fell, her muscles screaming in protest. Kâthaanî was dragged through the halls of the dungeons as she tried in vain to block the vicious light from her eyes.

She was thrown to the steps of the altar and she lay there until pulled and held to standing. Only then did Kâthaanî take in the sight: Marsillion stood bound, his eyes red and swollen, Tiru beside him. Abârpânarú stood, his shoulders stooped, his expression bereft of hope. Kâthaanî's heart stirred. She had failed her father. Her own impetuosity had betrayed her. Now, not only would her father die, but he would be forced to watch his beloved daughter tortured to death before it. Tears stained Kâthaanî's cheeks as she silently whispered "I am sorry" to ears that could not hear.

While on the journey, Kâthaanî had acted rashly... as a child. She had forced herself upon this mission with little right, and what had she to show for it? She had not saved her father... simply caused him more heartache. He would willingly die to save her... she had never so fully understood the implications of this until now... now, when death loomed near. Would they die fast? She could only hope that Abârpânarú would die first, though it pained her to think it, to be spared the tragedy of the ending of his daughter's life.

Was it ending now? She could not move. As a child, Kâthaanî had fallen from a horse, bruising her head. The feeling had been the same then, twining as a cat through now and then. It had only taken the voice of her father to tie her to reality. She wished he was here. She had seen him fall. Her mother had come. These moments melted together until she wondered how she had come to be riding double with Inzillomì. A strong arm had pulled her from the saddle and she rolled to her feet, knife in hand. As her mother looked on in horror, Kâthaanî had tried and failed to prevail once more. She fell to the ground with a scream as unforgiving metal pierced her flesh. It hurt like nothing that she had ever felt, unpityingly reminiscent of the harsh, bone-chilling ache that had once descended upon her after falling through ice... only worse... much worse. She could feel the chill radiating from the wound; it spread through her without boundary and with immediate effect: she lay frozen in fear. The candle flickered, going out. Voices sounded. Kâthaanî lay bleeding and her last thoughts were of her mother: her father had been saved from his daughter's death only for the witnessing to be given to Inzillomi. The world faded from memory.

"Kâthaanî." spoke a voice. "Kâthaanî, hold on." It was her father. He had helped her to safety when Izri came.

"Kâthaanî, speak to me." His voice was charged with worry. Why did the ground shake like this? Why did her dreams lie? Abârpânarú had not ordered her to speak in Armenelos.

"My Cerveth, my love, I am here." A hand took hers. Kâthaanî clasped Izri's reins.

Inzillomì looked at her husband in fear as she held her daughter’s icy hand within her warm ones. On their arrival to Romenna, the guard in charge of Kâthaanî had reported that her condition was worsening. Her breathing had slowed, her face was white. Her wound no longer bled, but the healers, not Elendil in the least, believed the offending sword to have been tipped with poison. She lay now unaware of the world... or so it seemed to her parents.

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Many thanks, littlemanpoet.