Bound by Shadows | Adar x OFC | Rings of Power

Bound

Eleneth felt a warm hand grasping hers, lifting it. Then the jarring ice cold of metal encircling her wrist. She opened her eyes and tried to pull her arm away, but the hand holding her was immovable. She looked up. Those black eyes again, piercing right through her. This time they were set in a face, not just flickering alone in the gloom. The pale, scarred face of an orc, eyes buried under a heavy brow.  For a moment, she thought she saw the faintest ghost of a smile play at the corner of his lips. Then in a swift, direct movement he pressed a manacle around her wrist and locked it tight. He permitted her to pull her arm away now, causing the long chain trailing from her wrist over the edge of the bed she realised she lay on, to rattle. 

He watched her taking in the surroundings. The room was lit by candles, the walls obscured in glimmering blackness. Her gaze was drawn to a large fire, crackling in a hearth beyond the foot of the bed. She was aware of a warmth in her limbs that had not been there since mid-summer. She was covered in layers of animal skins and coarse woollen blankets. Her head lay on an unexpectedly soft pillow. She looked up at the orc, a questioning furrow between her brows. 

What game is this? What trick? 

The face looking back at her gave no hint at the thoughts that might be behind the eyes. 

I must stay alive, until a chance comes. 

Pain rose in her head and she brought her manacled hand to her forehead to try and press where it hurt, but found it too tender to touch. She tried to roll away from the orc who was still staring coldly at her. 

Why doesn't he speak?  

Eleneth felt nausea washing over her once more, and she became very still, solely aware of the churning sensation that threatened to overtake her. As a wave of sickness crescendoed, she felt the mattress rise a little as the orc stood and strode steadily across the room. She was aware of the sounds of glass chinking, a quiet grinding sound, the splash of liquid, the clack of stirring. He was beside her again. 

"Drink this." he commanded in a low voice. He held a small earthenware cup out to her. She looked from the cup up into his inscrutable, ashen face. His mouth made a small movement. Impatience, frustration perhaps? "For the sickness." he said evenly. Eleneth looked back at the cup. She questioned whether this might be poison. 

Why warm me, just to kill me? 

Her stomach gnawed at her disgustingly and she took the cup from his hand. Staring down into it, the liquid appeared black and thick. Could she even drink this down? Closing her eyes and holding her breath she took a sip. It tasted of acrid smoke and it took what little strength she had left, to force herself to swallow it. The liquid felt hot on her insides, but her body did not reject it. The orc watched her drink the rest in one go, as her face twisted from the taste. His eyes flashed and this time a brief smirk spread across his face that she did not see. He took the cup away to the other side of the room and Eleneth rested her head back into the pillow exhausted. The soft depth of it was a relief and a comfort in a sea of dread. 

For a few minutes, the bed and the crackling fire were all she knew. She almost imagined she was home and her limbs softened a little. The brink of death had retreated from her, taken its bony fingers from round her throat. She breathed deeply. The nausea was gone. The pulsing pain in her head and shoulder remained, but duller now. What plants had made such a fast-healing medicine? Her mind was clearing. 

The Southlands had weakened her. She thought with regret about her inaction during her capture. Her skill with a blade had been beyond her grasp. She had been imperceptibly succumbing to the poisoned lands, day by day, since she had arrived and only now, when tested, had she realised just how weak she had become. The chain around her wrist clanked as she moved her arm.