Anariel of Erudin: The Age of Revolution | Lord of the Rings

10. Slaves and Savages

"Where could she be?" I said, my voice high and tinny with panic. "Lassiel!" I shouted over and over until my throat was raw and I couldn't scream anymore. Then, frantically, I searched all over the area: climbing up trees and peeking around bushes, even the tiniest of shrubs that could barely house rabbits, but she was gone. I'd just lost the elf-king's youngest daughter. I'd just lost Legolas's sister.

"He'll never forgive me," I murmured, feeling my stomach churn, "and the king will have my head." My legs were just about to give out when Turin caught my arm.

"No one's going to take your head," he assured me. "We will find her."

I shook my head. "No, we won't, Turin. I know who took her, and so do you. She's never coming back."

"You don't know that."

"But I do!" I cried. "In this kingdom, a hobbit is worth ten gold pieces. A dwarf, twenty. Can you imagine how much an elf's worth? It would be a slave trader's dream to get his hands on an elf, and now we've delivered one on a silver platter. A little elf girl, no less! She'll be sitting in some high lord's castle, singing songs and dancing for his entertainment!" When Turin suddenly released me, I fell to my knees and started to quietly sob. "It's all our fault, Turin. It's all our fault."

I'd seen a slave trader before, only once. I was fourteen at the time, and Winnie was still just a child. We were playing in the courtyard, playing some silly game we'd made up on the spot, and a man came walking through the main gates. He was a large man, well-dressed in expensive, colorful silks imported from the Southlands. When I first saw him, I thought he looked like the Great Goblin, probably because the story was still so fresh in my mind. For a moment, I hoped Gandalf the Grey would come and slay him as well, slash right through his fat, bouncing belly with the Foe-hammer. This man certainly deserved the same fate as the Great Goblin, but I didn't realize that until after I saw what he'd brought with him.

Following him, drawn by a very old horse, was a small wagon dripping with mud and swarming with flies. And in the bed stood a group of hobbits: seven, maybe eight of them, bound together with thick iron chains, chains so heavy that one succumbed to the weight of them, and the others had to help him up. Once the wagon stopped, the fat man dragged them off the wagon one by one and had them marching forward in a straight line.

Father came out shortly after they arrived, and I could tell he was angry just by his tone. "You have passed through my gates without invitation. If it is business you seek, I will be no customer to you. Take your wagon and leave my village."

"Lord Authion, host of hosts, honorable lord of the North, I come bearing good tidings and well wishes all the way from Nurn."

Father's face was stern. "That is not all you bring, slave master."

"Of course not, my lord. I am a trader of many things: spices, silk, soap, but today I have with me some of the finest hobbits the Shire has to offer, and at a very affordable price, I assure you." He approached the hobbit closest to him. "This one here has the most lovely singing voice. Sing for his lordship, go on!" When the hobbit wouldn't sing, the slave master gave the back of his head a hard smack, knocking him forward. "Sing, or I'll have your tongue!"

"That is enough!" Father ordered, but the slave master wouldn't listen; he just moved on to the next hobbit.

"They have all their teeth." The man put his hands all over the hobbit's face, roughly pulling at his dry, cracked lips to show Father his full set of teeth. "And they're strong, perfectly built for farming, and hobbits are such excellent farmers, you know. You'll never have to worry about a bad harvest again, I promise you." The man saw us then, stared right at us with his black eyes, and he grinned. "I see you have children. Oh, today is your lucky day, my lord! They make excellent playmates, hobbits, and they'll stay just the right size for children."