The darkness that had coveted her now faded away into auburns and crimsons, as the braziers flared with warmth and light. And yet it was only one that stood outside of the dark, dank cell she now found herself in, surrounded by rats and all manners of filth. She tried to shift her body, but every bone and muscle within her pained terribly.

"M...my lady?" Came a small, but all too familiar voice from nearby.

"Yilkiz?" Aradheleth murmured, her throat clamming. "Where are you?" He eyes strained, but the light from the single brazier seemed as blinding as the sun.

"Here, in the next cell." She whispered.

Aradhelelth strained herself to sit on her elbow, and as she maneuvered the shackles upon her wrists bit hard into her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Yilkiz asked as she moved closer to the bars between them.

"Wh...what's going on?"

"You were brought down here a couple of days ago, my lady."

"A couple of days ago?" Aradheleth repeated as she peered around her meager lodgings.

"Yes, we were both brought down here. I am a fool for having told you about the stone, thinking that the Dark Lord would not know. He sees all. He knows all. Now we will both be punished." Yilkiz's voice was now ridden with panic.

"I will reason with my husband. It is I who left the tower. It is I who should be punished, not you. Forgive me for putting you into this predicament, Yilkiz."

Yilkiz looked at her mistress surprised, having not expected any form of apology. As she went to speak, the loud clang of metal rang through the dungeon as the entrance gates were flung open.

Looking up collectively they saw several orcs skuttle down the broken steps of rock and stone, followed shortly behind by a towering, massive beast of an Uruk. Immediately Yilkiz scampered away to the back of her cell, fear wrought upon her bruised face. Aradheleth knew then that it had not been the first time her servant girl had encountered the creature.

"The Dark Lord beckons, your majesty." His mocking tone riled her to the very core.

"If the Dark Lord so wishes to see his queen, then he can come down here himself!" She hissed in reply, spitting in the direction of the dark, hulking beast.

The surrounding orcs fell silent of their tittering, fearful for how their captain would take such an insult. The Uruk's gnarled mouth twisted into a snarl. "Seize them!" He shoved two of his miserable subordinates forward, and they immediately set to unlocking the barred doors.

"Is this how you treat your queen?" Aradheleth demanded angrily at the orc that had pulled her up by the chains that tethered her. The orc immediately hesitated, acknowledging her position as the Dark Lord's consort, but the Uruk would have none of her flippant words. He threw the orc aside and seized her by the metal collar around her neck, aiming to send her too flying.

"Harm me or my servant, and I will guarantee that your entrails will smear the Black Gates of Mordor!"

The Uruk leaned in, only inches from her face. "You have no power here, wench." And yanking her by her hair, hauled her through the cell and up the steps, Yilkiz sobbing relentlessly behind them.

They were lead into another dark and decrepit chamber which reeked of mold and rotting flesh and blood. Various metal contraptions hung from the ceiling, scraps of tangled hair and sinew dangled from some.

Aradheleth shuddered at the sight, but her blood froze in her veins when she noticed the amber gaze now pinned on her.

"As you can see, I have come down here myself."

"Why are we here?" Her eyes trailed from her husband to her father who was standing in the shadows of the opposite corner.

"Why do you think?" He moved with such poise around the long wooden table until he stood directly in front of her. He stood before her like a lone star in a dark abyss, his silver hair almost shimmering from the torchlight, the shadows cast upon him heightening his every delectable feature.

Aradheleth shivered as his domineering presence engulfed her, filling her with a sickening sense of fear and dread.

"What will you do?" She whimpered helplessly.

"How did you like my treatment the last time?"

Her eyes widened in terror, and with a smirk, his gaze turned to the orcs gathered behind her. With a simple nod from him, they dragged Yilkiz to the table and flung her face down upon it, pinning her there by her arms.

"Husband... my lord, please, don't hurt her. She is not at fault..."

"Your concern for her is almost admirable." He answered her plainly. "But it is not I who is going to punish her."

She immediately looked over at her father once more, as he now stepped into the light.

"Father, please, show mercy. She was only following my orders."

Her eyes widened when the Dark Lord suddenly held out a long, thin cane to her.

"Oh, it is not he, my dear. You shall do the deed."

Aradheleth's gaze met Yilkiz's helplessly, and the young servant whimpered against her captors.

"You have grown fond of power, so you shall have it now," Her father continued.

Her eyes darted between them, her very core shaken. "Please... my lord... master... do not make me do this." She pleaded. "It is I who deserve such punishment."

Alas the Dark Lord's expression remained almost serene, and without even a word her father ripped the cane from her very hands. The blood-curdling scream that came from Yilkiz's mouth as her flesh was torn from her back was enough to make Aradheleth too scream out. "Please! Stop! I concede! Please..." She wept. The Dark Lord took the cane from her father and handed it to her once more.

"Be warned. If I am not satisfied, then I will take it upon myself to punish you both."

"Yilkiz..." She whimpered. "Forgive me..."

"Do it!" Her father hissed. She hesitated for a moment, her entire body shaking with despair, and as her father went to grab her again she brought the cane down, and it let out a loud crack as it connected with Yilkiz's flesh. The young servant's wails and the mere act of what she was doing were enough to make Aradheleth sob uncontrollably. She had brought this whole dilemma upon their heads, and Yilkiz, her only friend within that desolate tower, was paying the price for it. The shame of her actions and her own cries drowned out every sound and sense around her as she brought down the cane again and again. She knew that they would both suffer a much worse fate if she did not comply. Eventually, she felt a hand tighten around her wrist, halting her, and she fell to her knees and wailed. Through her tears she saw that Yilkiz was now listless, her back bleeding and raw, as the orcs dragged her away to some unknown place. Aradheleth was in too much despair to question as she too was dragged back below into the same dank cell she had woken up in earlier.

Curling herself up on the makeshift cot, she wept for what seemed like an eternity. She had not even noticed the menacing presence of her father, standing there, watching her.

"You should be thankful." He said, finally.

She peered up at him from her knees. "Thankful?" She replied, disdain riddled through her voice.

"Yes." He replied simply. "Your pathetic pleading did have some effect."

"Speak plainly!"

"That slave lived, did she not?"

"Now, I am not certain..."

"Nevertheless, you should not be so ungrateful. Our master has executed others for far less severe indiscretions."

"Since when does he ever need a reason not to kill?" She answered, bitterly.

"He doesn't." He turned to leave her, and she was adamant to let him, but her heart spurred her to run to the bars between them.

"Wait, father, please... please tell me she lives."

"She is most likely a plaything for the horde by now, or fodder." He had not even turned to her when he answered, and continued on his way up the stairs, leaving her there again in a heap of despair.

She had lost track of how long she had wept, and it was the sensation of another wetness that brought her back to reality. Looking down at the tatters that had been her dress, she saw a large patch of deep red crimson. So much of it had already dried, for in her despair it had slipped from her mind entirely. Hastily, and almost in disgust she tore the offending cloth from her body, but it only sought to reveal the blood that was caked and smearing the inside of her thighs. She felt such a humiliation that she dragged herself to the darkest corner, away from any prying eyes. Tearing off the remainder of her dress till she was bare, she placed it between her thighs in hope for some form of meager protection. The wounds on her thigh and back were wide and burning, but the bleeding at least had staunched. It was only a matter of time, however, before they would begin to fester. There was no water, nothing at all within the cell that confined her that she could use to clean herself with. She sat there, in her filthy corner, fretting about her only friend, not knowing whether she would see her again, not knowing whether she would ever be let out of that cell. Her tears, like her blood, continued to flow ruthlessly and she had not noticed the ashen-haired woman that had entered.

Aradheleth had almost shrieked when the woman placed a cautious hand on her shoulder, and the woman fell backward in shock, almost knocking over one of the large buckets of water she had brought in with her. For a long moment they stared at each other in silence, and a realisation struck Aradheleth like a hammer upon a stone. "I know you..."

The woman, her milky brown skin marred with years of hardship, pretended not to hear as she reached for the cloths that hung on the rim of the buckets.

"Who are you?" Aradheleth asked, her voice small, as she tried to look the woman in the eyes. Yet the woman avoided eye contact and began to drench the cloths with water from the bucket. Still, she did not reply.

"Did the Dark Lord send you?" Again she was met with no answer. "My father, the Witch King? Did he send you?" She pushed.

The woman paused then, and her body seemed to tense at the sound of his title, and she gave a very small, almost unnoticeable nod. So that is why she seemed so familiar. She belonged to her father. But her familiarity was more than that. Something almost familial that Aradheleth could feel. Though there was something. Then it dawned on her.

"Y... you're the woman from the ceremony..."

The woman looked at her directly then, and her brilliant hazel eyes shone painfully in the auburn light... eyes so very much like her own. Again, she made no noise but instead motioned for Aradheleth to open her legs.

"For what it is worth..." Aradheleth began, "I am sorry for what I did to you..."

The woman acknowledged her apology with a short sigh and pushed her mistress' knees wider apart. Gently she began to wipe away the blood and dirt from her charge, no expression of disgust upon her face for she had seen much worse in times past.

Aradheleth shuddered from the icy water, but she did not complain, only watched the woman closely. Surprising to her the woman was extremely gentle - something which, after the previous days, she found so very welcoming. Even when she began to suture Aradheleth's wounds, she used a steady and tender hand. Once her charge was relatively cleaned and stitched, she rose to leave.

"Wait!" Aradheleth took the woman by the wrist and clung to her hand almost desperately.

"Will you return?" Her eyes pleaded.

"Get out!" Both the woman and Aradheleth jolted at the booming voice behind them. Neither had noticed the Witch King had entered the cell. "Move your arse before I skin it off you, filth." He shoved the woman viciously through the wrought iron door before she had the chance to collect her things. The bucket of bloodied water spilled upon the floor of the cell, causing a slush underneath the woman's feet as she tripped on herself. She looked back one last time at Aradheleth as she reached the stairs, but the Witch King's menacing glare caused her to bolt.

"You're despicable." Aradheleth hissed at him, once the woman had disappeared.

"Yet, you are the one in chains and rags." He answered, looking down at her with his icy gaze, unfazed in the slightest by her words. "Look at you. You thought yourself a queen and allowed such haughtiness cloud your judgment. Did I not warn you?" He scoffed then. "And here you are. Pathetic."

"What do you want, other than to torment me?" Aradheleth gathered herself enough to move to the ragged cot.

"The Dark Lord sees it appropriate to let you eat, though I advised him to let you starve." He tossed a meager piece of half-rotted bread and a leaking waterskin in her direction.

"I am your daughter. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"You are a bastard, nothing more."
"So why allow me to have been brought into this world then?"

"Fate willed it."

"You mean the Dark Lord willed it?" She glared. "Why, if he is to just leave me here to rot? Where is he? I demand to see him!"

"Your demands are mere dust here." The Witch King turned to leave her.

"Where is Yilkiz?!" She managed to raise her voice then, but he ignored her desperation. She felt so ill in the stomach at that moment, she laid herself down and wept herself to sleep.

She could not recall how much time had passed when she woke again. Rats scurried about the floor before her, fighting for pieces of the maggot infested scraps she had been given, and as she tried to rise to shoo them, a great wave of nausea engulfed her, forcing her to stay bedridden. Such a great pain engulfed her leg and back, and so weighted did she feel she could not turn her head to inspect the state of her wounds. But she could smell them. Her head swooned and throbbed as her body shivered relentlessly. Yet, she felt as if she had been thrown into the magma of Orodruin. Heaving, the rats scampered to devour her vomit as well.

More and more time passed, she was certain of that, but the only light that shone was that mere brazier on the outside of her cell. She could not tell when it was night or day. Noone, or thing, besides the rats that now infested her cell, came to keep her company. Eventually, the pitiful scraps of food and festered water no longer came. She no longer had the fortitude to lift herself from the cot to sustain herself, even if nourishment, if it could even be called that, was to come again. She would simply succumb to her punishment. The Dark Lord had warned her not to overstep her boundaries and had already allowed her many concessions. Alas, she had been young and too idiotic and naive to even imagine that she could stretch her limits. She was, after all, but a mere speck in the wake of a being born of the heavens. She was nothing.

Thick puss and blood oozed from the ravines that had formed on her lips as she tried one last time to pray to whoever would listen. She could no longer feel her body or the array of fetid creatures that nibbled upon her lankness. She felt almost a peace, as her consciousness floated above all existence. A bright light shone above her now, encasing her with a warmth that breathed a renewed life into her soul. It was her time, she had come to accept that, and now only hoped that Namo would not judge her too harshly if she were to ever be allowed to cross into his halls.

"You are not going anywhere, my dear."