Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 7/25
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au
Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir
Rating: PG
Summary: Negotiations conclude.
Genre: Romance
Beta(s): Aglarien
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,278
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R.
Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Authors Note: The prompts used were: 5 Aug 2006 – ‘hay‘; 7 Sep 2007 –
‘spice/spicy’; 22 Oct 2007 – ‘kick’; 23 Oct 2007 – ‘curdle’; 26 Oct
2007 – ‘milk’; 27 Oct 2006 – ‘bread’; 26 Nov 2007 – ‘stroke’
***********************

Once inside, the senior advisor immediately espied his quarry and
headed directly to his table, assured by the fact that Lothvaen and
the Geledhil were following close behind. Without preamble he seated
himself and launched immediately into dialogue with burgher, who
seemed unsurprised by Berendirith’s abrupt manner. Lothvaen sat
himself down at the edge of the bench, trying to be as unobtrusive as
possible, yet listening avidly to the conversation that was happening
between the man and Berendirith, while the two Geledhil sat at a
nearby table and motioned for one of the servers to bring them some
ale.

It did not take long for the negotiations to be concluded, with the
burgher signing off on the agreement with a flourish. “There,” he
said with a smile as he handed the parchment back to Berendirith. “I
look forward to continued good relationships with the elves of
Lothlórien. I take it you are staying the night?” Berendirith nodded
a little unenthusiastically, to which the burgher beamed. “Excellent,
excellent! I believe the rabbit pie is quite good.” The senior
advisor, upon hearing this, screwed up his nose slightly. Oblivious,
the burgher continued, “Now, I am afraid I must leave you gentlemen.
I hope you have a safe journey home tomorrow.” With those parting
words, the man left.

“Rabbit pie,” Berendirith said in disgust. “The pastry will
undoubtedly be soggy and the gravy lacking in taste. I only hope
there will be better things on the menu.”

“Actually,” Lothvaen said as he looked around him, “the rabbit pie
looks quite good.”

Berendirith sniffed. “If you want to eat some of it, I shall not stop
you. At least the ale is passable here, though I would not touch the
wine. I swear they water it down.” The senior advisor then looked
around the room himself before signalling for the server to come to
the table. “Some ale, and bring us some of the rabbit pie.”

“Of course, sirs. I’ll bring it to you straight away,” she said, and
then winked at Lothvaen, making the scribe blush.

To cover his embarrassment, Lothvaen turned to Berendirith. “I
thought you were not going to have any of the pie,” he said.

Berendirith stared at the younger elf. “Have you seen the other food
that is available here? Even less palatable, methinks, than the pie.
I shall risk it. If the worst comes to the worst, I could always just
have the bread – providing it is not crawling with weevils,” he said
a little morosely.

In the meantime the senior advisor and scribe had been joined by the
Geledhil. “I take it things have been concluded satisfactorily?”
Caegaran asked.

Berendirith gave the Galadhel a look that could curdle milk. “Your
observance and astuteness never ceases to astound me,” he said, not
bothering to hide his displeasure. Caegaran merely shrugged and took
another sip of his ale.

Lothvaen, meanwhile, had been staring out the window. Dusk had
already fallen, and candles had been lit within the room. He
continued to stare out until the server arrived with their food.
Realising how hungry he was, he quickly began to eat. Even
Berendirith, despite his earlier disapproval, seemed to relish the
repast. “This is actually quite good,” the senior advisor admitted.
“Rich, with just a little bit of spice. It seems the burgher was
right.” He continued to eat, as did the two Geledhil, but Lothvaen
put down his fork. The scribe all of a sudden felt the need for a
little fresh air, and decided he would go and see his horse in the
stables. He thought there would be no harm in doing that, and
carefully got up from the table. Lothvaen did not want to
particularly tell anyone he was going to step outside, especially
Berendirith. The senior advisor was more than likely to grab him and
drag him back down onto the bench.

The scribe thought briefly about the knife that Celeborn had given
him, currently tucked away in his satchel in the room he was sharing
with Berendirith. He had not been comfortable when Celeborn had given
it to him, and the idea of possibly using it to stab someone with it,
even if it were in self-defence, made the elf feel slightly ill. No,
much better that it was in his satchel. And what could possibly
happen? He was, after all, only going to the stables. Lothvaen got up
silently, his eyes on his companions, before ducking behind some of
the inn’s patrons. Weaving his way around the tables, Lothvaen
slipped through the door outside.

His leaving did not quite go unnoticed, however. Caegaran watched as
the scribe left, but made nothing of it. Yes, he had heard
Berendirith’s constant exhortations in remaining together, yet as far
as he was concerned Lothvaen could just as easily be going outside to
relieve himself. After all, one did not need an audience to do that.
So he remained quiet and continued to eat and drink, and very soon
thought no more about it.

But it was not just Caegaran who noticed Lothvaen’s departure. The
man who had observed the elves’ arrival earlier in the afternoon also
had seen the scribe leave and, after a few moments, followed Lothvaen
outside.

Lothvaen had reached the stables and went inside, locating his horse
halfway down. With a smile he walked to her, and delighted in the
fact that she seemed to recognise him, welcoming the scribe with a
small whinny. Lothvaen took a quick look into her stall; all seemed
clean and there was plenty of fresh hay. He began to stroke her nose.

“She’s a pretty little thing.” The voice seemed to come from nowhere,
and made Lothvaen jump. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” A
young man approached the scribe, a smile on his face.

“That…that is all right,” Lothvaen stuttered. “I was just not
expecting someone else to be here, that is all.”

“You come far?”

“From Lothlórien, though we return tomorrow,” Lothvaen replied.

“Ah. Not been there myself, but then I don’t think any human has. You
elves keep pretty much to yourself.”

Lothvaen flushed slightly. “There is much danger about,” he murmured.

“Aye, true enough.” The man continued to look at Lothvaen, keeping a
friendly smile on his face, but made sure he was not too close.
“What’s your name?”

“Lothvaen.” The scribe continued to stroke his horse, feeling
unthreatened by the man before him. He was unaware, however, of
another man carefully creeping up behind him, rag in his hand. Any
possible noise he made was covered as horses moved about in their
stalls. As soon as he was close enough, he quickly covered Lothvaen’s
face and nose with the rag, pressing tightly. The scribe grabbed at
the arm of his assailant and tried to kick him, while his eyes
pleaded to the man in front of him to do something, but he was soon
overcome and fell limp into the arms his assailant. Lothvaen’s horse
had shied away in alarm, her eyes wide.

“Got ‘im!” the assailant, Selred, said jubilantly.

“Quiet, you fool!” the other man, whose name was Eohric, hissed. “We
need to get him out of here, and quickly, before his friends realise
he has been away for too long.”

“Right.” With little effort, the dark-haired man hoisted Lothvaen
over his shoulder.

“Stick to the shadows; that way we have less chance of being seen.
Our horses are on the outskirts of town. Do you think you can carry
him that far?”

“Aye. ‘e don’ weighs much; ‘e be a skinny thing.”

“’Skinny thing or no, he will fetch us a good price. So be careful!”
************************

The names Selred and Eohric were taken from this website:
http://www.ealdriht.org/names/Englishnames.htm	
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 8/25
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au
Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir
Rating: PG
Summary: The elves discover that Lothvaen is missing.
Genre: Romance
Beta(s): Aglarien
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,261
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R.
Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Authors Note: The prompts used were: 21 Oct 2007 – ‘sharp’; 31 Oct
2007 – ‘prank’; 2 Nov 2007 – ‘search’; 16 Nov 2007 – ‘choice’
***********************

“Where is Lothvaen?” Berendirith’s voice was sharp.

Caegaran shrugged slightly. “Outside,” he said.

“What do you mean, outside?” It was Rúmil who spoke. “Did you see him
leave?”

“Aye.” Caegaran stared at the other two elves. “Oh, for Valar’s sake,
he probably just went to relieve himself. Surely he is allowed to do
that!”

“How long ago did he leave?” Rúmil asked quietly.

Caegaran paused for a moment. “Actually, it was a little while ago,”
he admitted.

“You saw him leave, but you did not think to ask him where he was
going?” Rúmil’s voice had taken on an edge.

“I told you, I just thought he was going out to relieve himself!”

“We need to search for him,” Berendirith said decisively. “I knew it
was a bad decision on Celeborn’s part to allow the scribe to come
with us.” The senior advisor turned his gaze to Rúmil. “I seriously
can not for the life of me understand what your brother sees in
Lothvaen. He may be an excellent scribe, but he truly does not come
across as being intelligent. Mind you, it would not surprise me if
Lothvaen was trying to pull a prank on us; it would seem the sort of
thing he would do.”

“I suggest that you refrain from any further comments, Berendirith,”
Rúmil said angrily. “I have not seen my brother so happy in a very
long time. And your insulting of Lothvaen is unwarranted. Now, as you
say, we need to search for him. You can remain here, or you can help
us search. It is your choice.”

“Bah. As soon as we find him I will give him a piece of my mind,”
Berendirith grumbled as he got up from the bench. “”Which way did he
go?” he asked of Caegaran.

The Galadhel pointed. “That way.”

“He may be in the stables,” Rúmil said hopefully. “He could have just
forgotten the time.”

“Forgotten his brain, more likely,” Berendirith muttered as he
followed the two Geledhil outside. After quickly looking around,
Rúmil headed towards the stables and went inside. Caegaran and
Berendirith joined him and watched as Rúmil made his way down to
Lothvaen’s horse.

“She seems spooked for some reason,” Rúmil said quietly, patting the
agitated horse gently. “However, I do think that Lothvaen had been
here.”

“Mayhap he has returned to the inn and is in his room,” Caegaran
suggested.

“We will go and look,” Rúmil said, giving Lothvaen’s horse a final
pat.

Quickly returning to the inn, Berendirith quickly climbed the stairs
and almost barged into the room he was to share with the scribe,
fully expecting Lothvaen to be there. When he saw, however, that the
room was empty, the senior advisor’s heart fell slightly, and he
proceeded back down the stairs. “He is not there,” he said.

“Then we will begin asking,” Rúmil said decisively. “Someone will
surely have seen something.”

Yet the questions asked by the three elves elicited either negative
responses or the shrugging of shoulders. The elves then moved
outside, hoping that, despite the fact that night had fallen, someone
would have noticed an elf wandering the streets. But to no avail.
Helplessly, the three elves stared at each other, each wondering what
they should do next.

“Did either of you notice anything out of the ordinary when we
arrived?” Rúmil asked suddenly.

“Apart from the usual stares we receive every time we come to a human
settlement?” Berendirith asked.

“Nothing,” Caegaran said in reply to Rúmil’s question.

Rúmil was thoughtful. “I have a feeling that our arrival generated
interest in some who are not merely curious about elves.”

“What are you suggesting?” Berendirith asked.

“Slave traders,” Rúmil said quietly. “I think Lothvaen has been
kidnapped.”

“What sort of foolishness is that!” Berendirith scoffed. “Slave
traders, indeed. Do you truly think they would be that foolish to be
this close to Lothlórien? We are close enough to provide aid should
these people need it, and have done so in the past. No, that silly
little scribe has wandered off somewhere, and is probably lost, the
fool. We just need to continue asking, knock on doors if we have to.
For all we know, Lothvaen is probably ensconced in someone’s home,
annoying them with his twittering.”

Rúmil listened to what Berendirith said, his mien not changing. “The
slave traders have become bolder of late, and are not afraid to take
risks. I have heard enough reports to know this,” he said, his voice
still quiet. “The fact that Lothlórien is nearby is no longer a
threat to them, for they know they still have time on their side. By
the time any elves arrive, they will be long gone. You may think that
Lothvaen is in the town somewhere, but in the short time that I have
known him, I can tell you now that it is not the sort of thing he
would do. That, not to mention his horse being spooked, tells me a
different story. The more I think of it, the more I fear that I may
be right in my assumption, for I can think of no others who would
take an elf…and one such as us would be highly prized indeed.”

Berendirith blinked. “Despite what you say, Rúmil, I can not believe
that Lothvaen has been taken,” he said, though his voice held little
conviction.

Caegaran, on the other hand, seemed to think otherwise. “I think
Rúmil may be right in that Lothvaen has been taken, though I have my
doubts that it was by slavers. It could just have easily been by
someone who wants an elf as some sort of plaything.”

Rúmil looked a little sourly at his fellow Galadhel. “No one in this
town would be foolish enough to kidnap an elf.”

“He could have been taken by someone who was a visitor to the town,”
Caegaran argued. “’Tis just we can not presume it was slavers.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sirs,” a voice said from the gloom, “but
slavers do be about ‘ere. Reckon we lost four or five people to ‘em
in the last year alone.”

The elves turned to the voice. “How can you be certain it was
slavers?” Berendirith asked tersely.

“’Cause we ‘aven’t been able to find ‘em, that’s why. And it’s the
young, pretty folk they’ve been takin’, too. Anyway, ‘aven’t you been
listenin’ to your friend here?” the man replied, coming out so that
the elves could see him. “Slavers are not afraid any more. They’re
bolder, alright. And tricky. They know paths and hidin’ places that
we got no hopes of findin’.” The man spat on the ground. “Nah, you
can be sure slavers ‘ave got your friend. All I can say is, good luck
in tryin’ to find ‘im.” The man turned and wandered off towards the
inn, leaving the three elves staring after him.

The senior advisor rubbed his nose. “What do you suggest we do?” he
asked a little tiredly.

“If we leave now, we may be able to catch up with them,” Caegaran
said.

“Aye. But these people are very clever at hiding their tracks, and I
suspect to try and find them now in the dark would be nigh on
impossible.” Rúmil sighed. “Whether we like it or not, we will need
to return to Lothlórien at first light tomorrow and put together a
larger party to search for Lothvaen. One thing we can be certain of:
all slave traders know where their best market is – the south.”

“And the land of the Haradrim,” Berendirith said grimly.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Title: ‘To Rescue an Elf’ Part 9/25
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Email: mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au
Pairing(s): Lothvaen/Haldir
Rating: R
Summary: Lothvaen wakes up and begins to realise his predicament.
Genre: Romance
Beta(s): Aglarien
Warnings: Crude language
Word count: 829
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R.
Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Authors Note: The prompts used were: 6 Oct 2007 – ‘cock’; 12 Oct 2007
– ‘injury’; 20 Oct 2007 – ‘queer’; 30 Oct 2007 – ‘terror’;  14 Nov
2007 – ‘penetrate’; 17 Nov 2007 – ‘free’
***********************

Lothvaen awoke, feeling a little queer. No, it was more than that –
he was feeling downright sick. He groaned.

“Yer wakin’ ups, are yer? ‘Bout time,” a gruff voice said.

“Feel sick,” Lothvaen whimpered.

“Yer goin’ ter feels that ways for a times yet.”

“Water…”

“No water; yer only goin’ ter chucks it up agin.” The voice was
decidedly unsympathetic, and Lothvaen was beginning to feel worse by
the second. It did not help that he had been slung over a horse, his
head hanging down over the side. The scribe could feel his stomach
heaving.

“Oi – don’ thinks about spewin’ up ‘ere over the sides of me ‘orse!”

“Then we’ll have to stop and give him a chance to recover.” A second
voice reached Lothvaen’s ears; the voice of the man who had appeared
so friendly towards him in the stables.

“Pity we couldna ‘ave takens ‘is ‘orse an’ ‘ad ‘im sittin’ on that,”
the first voice grumbled. “Could ‘ave then solds it for a good price
– a bits extra, yer know?”

“Except that elven horses tend to be difficult,” the second voice
said. “No more talk. I’ll help him off and prop him up against that
tree.”

“Yer thinks we’re far enoughs ahead of ‘is friends?”

“I doubt very much if his friends will be following us. More likely
they will be returning to where they came from to organise a bigger
party and then try and find us. Except by the time they do that we’ll
be so far ahead of them they’ll have no chance.”

“Haldir…” Lothvaen moaned.

“Huh. Wonder ‘oo this ‘aldeer is,” the first voice said.

“Who knows,” came the second voice.

Lothvaen felt hands on him, half-dragging, half-carrying him off the
back of the horse. He did not dare open his eyes; even through his
eyelids the sun felt unbearably harsh. He had no idea where he was,
and what these men were doing with him. The scribe soon found himself
sitting up against a tree, but nearly toppled over as soon as the
hands left him, so weak was he.

Hands quickly grabbed him and settled him upright again. “Come on, up
you get.” The man’s voice was gentle. “We can’t have anything happen
to you. Here, have some water. Unlike what our friend thinks, it will
help, but sip slowly. The queasiness will soon pass.”

Lothvaen felt the water skin being held to his lips, and tried to
tilt his head back to drink, spluttering slightly as the first drops
hit his mouth.

“Easy. Remember, sip slowly.”

Trying to do what was being asked of him, Lothvaen finally managed to
swallow some water, but then pushed the skin away.

“Pity we can’ breaks ‘im in, like. Wouldn’ minds puttin’ me cock up
‘is arse. Always wanted ter fuck an elf.” It took a moment before the
first man’s words began to penetrate Lothvaen’s head but, when they
did, he began to realise that he may be in serious trouble.

“You are *not* to touch him, is that understood? He needs to be free
of any sort of injury; otherwise we’ll get nothing for him at the
slave market!”

Lothvaen’s fear gave way to terror. His eyes flew open and took in
the two men, one of whom was leering at him, while the other – the
fair-haired man who had spoken to him in the stables – was looking at
him a little concerned. “Wh..wh…why?” the scribe stuttered.

The fair-haired man smiled. “You are extremely beautiful, and there
are those at the market who would…appreciate beauty such as yours.”
He raised his hand and touched Lothvaen on the cheek, and the elf
flinched. “Ah, no need for that now,” Eohric gently admonished. “But
some advice,” he continued, leaning closer to Lothvaen, “don’t fight.
Whoever buys you will give you a life of luxury, and you will be
exclusive to them. In return, they will want obedience at all times.
You start causing trouble, and you will be punished. And believe me
when I say that the punishment can be at times…inventive, guaranteed
to break you. However, if for some reason you are not broken and you
continue to cause problems, then you’ll find yourself out on the
street, available to anyone who is willing to pay a little coin to
fuck you. And with your beauty, there will be plenty who will want to
do that. As you can see, our friend here,” Eohric indicated Selred,
“is extremely keen to fuck you.”

Lothvaen stared at the other man, who rubbed his cock suggestively.
The scribe looked away, feeling sicker than he was before.

“However, as you may have heard, I have warned our friend here to
keep his hands to himself, tempting though you may be. But you are
extremely valuable to us; very few elves manage to get themselves
caught.” Eohric pulled back slightly, a smile on his face. “Yes, I do
believe you will bring us a tidy little fortune.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*