Aravan {A Lord of the Rings Story}

E•I•G•H•T•E•E•N

A/N: So I was POSITIVE that I was going to have no time to write this until this weekend, but hey, guess what? I FINISHED MY HOMEWORK EARLY TONIGHT! The result? Chapter 18! :) It turned out to be much shorter than I thought it would be, which is actually really nice, because the outline that I had was flippin looooooong. 

I edited it very looesly, since it's 11:30 and my brain's not really functioning right now, so please excuse and point out any mistakes that you find. Hope you guys enjoy!

E•I•G•H•T•E•E•N

            With every battle cry that leaked through the thick walls, Artanis squirmed against her bonds, desperate to be free. Everything inside of her screamed for an act of courage, but alas, she could not do anything while tied to a column. She grunted and shifted once more, repositioning the rope on her wrists only by a little. Pippin had tied them fairly loosely so that they did not dig into her skin, but she was still bound to the point where she couldn’t escape.

            ‘Stop struggling,’ Denethor snapped, glancing over and seeing her.

            ‘Pardon me for defying this injustice,’ she shot back bitterly, glaring at him.

His eyes grew wide with rage. ‘How dare you-’

‘You are a coward,’ she interrupted without thinking, ‘a coward who is so scared that you feel obligated to tie up a young girl who obviously means you no harm. Your people are out there, and they are counting on your leadership, which you are failing to provide. And fear is not a bad thing; sometimes it is even healthy. But now, Lord Denethor, fear can have no place in your heart. It is everyone’s time to serve. So please, release me so that I can fight for the safety of your city. That is all I desire to do: to protect what you hold dear. Do not forsake hope so quickly.’

            Denethor stood from his chair and came and squatted in front of her.

‘You cannot sway me with your words, girl,’ he snarled under his breath. ‘There is no hope to be found for Minas Tirith.’

‘But there is!’ she cried, leaning forward. ‘There is always hope!’

He shook his head. ‘From this point on, hope is as good as dead.’

Livid, Artanis shouted, ‘You are the closest thing to a king that this great city has, and it is time you started acting like one!’

Denethor grabbed her by the shirt and gave her a hard shake. ‘You shut your mouth and learn some respect!’ he barked. ‘No one addresses me like that, do you understand? No one!’

Artanis’s boldness immediately faded as he began to shake her more, growing angrier and angrier with each word that he spoke. Her head began to pound and her vision blurred.

‘Stop,’ she whimpered, ‘Please, that hurts.’

But Denethor had lost it. The supposed death of his youngest son, the forces of Mordor at his front door, and Artanis’s bold words had pushed him over the edge of reason. He continued to scream at her, but all his phrases were incoherent and inapplicable. Artanis gave up on trying to reason with him, and instead tried to fight back by kicking. She hit him twice: once in the gut and once in the leg. Nevertheless, he did not stop shaking her.

‘Someone help!’ she finally cried. ‘Anyone, please!’

A sharp pain ripped through her skull and lingered there, prompting her to scream in agony. Images from previous visions flashed before her, but they moved so quickly that she could not keep track of them. They made her dizzy and sick, and bile began to rise up in her throat. And then suddenly, it all stopped. The pain subsided, the images faded away, and Denethor slumped to the ground. And there, standing above him with a pan held above his head and panting frantically, was the bravest little hero Artanis had ever laid eyes on.