Thendryt walked up the damp steps, lightened up only by the torch in his hand. He had left Bovad near the entrance, the horse could fend for himself.
Thendryt’s boots echoed through the empty halls. He could see nothing beyond his torch as he made his way further into Delossad.
Weakness.
The word echoed through his head. It seemed real, as if the darkness surrounding him was whispering it into his ear.
Through tunnels and halls he walked, ever deeper. Each hall darker than the previous, the whispering darkness all around him.
At the end of a hall, Thendryt halted. He stood there for a moment, before taking a right and heading into a concealed passage.
Even though he knew what awaited him at the end of the passage, Thendryt kept walking. The walls screamed at him, and he could feel his muscles getting tenser as he neared the end.
Thendryt stopped. He felt the dread deep inside build up. Around him, the walls danced in the torch-light.
Torn Angmarim banners covered each and every wall. The red cloth, dirty and bloody, hung from every part of the ceiling, all the way down to the floor. Broken Angmarim weapons lay in piles all around the room. He’d broken every single one of them. In the middle was a table, stained with blood across every surface. Next to that, a smaller bench with Angmarim torture tools laid out neatly.
Thendryt walked over to the bench and laid his hands on one of the tools. A memory flashed past and he quickly removed his hand. He went through them all before turning his attention to the table.
With his weapons leaning against the wall, Thendryt sat down on the table. As he closed his eyes, he felt how the room became smaller. He could feel the dread crawl up from deep within himself and gnaw at his heart. The darkness whispered to him, the walls screamed and a fire of panic spread inside of him. The two scars on his face burned, as if they were still bleeding. The scars on his body ached, as he remembered each and every one. The Iron Crown brand on his heart felt like a dagger in his chest. His burned back was melting, as he re-lived the torture behind his closed eye-lids.
Faces he knew flashed into his mind. Faces that made his blood boil. He felt trapped, as the faces came ever closer. His breathing intensified. A Cargûl shriek filled his ears. There was no way out.
For hours he sat there, until what little was left of his sanity made him open his eyes. He sheathed the knifed he held in his hands and finally let it go. His right hand ached as he picked up the piece of cloth next to him. Thendryt wiped most of the blood off his body, carefully cleaning each of his old scars. He had re-opened most of his old scars, though not deeply.
Thendryt slowly stood up, bearing the pain. He walked over one of the room’s corners, where he had fastened an iron bar from one of the ancient cells between the walls.He jumped up and grabbed the bar. Most wounds opened up a bit more as he pulled himself up, but he ignored the pain as he continued to pull himself upwards, again and again, until he no longer felt the pain and the muscles in his arms had no strength left. The exercise made him weary, but yet again he ignored it and continued.
Thendryt poured a bucked of rainwater over himself once he was finished, washing away the blood, the sweat. The darkness was silent, his body numb and his mind clear. He applied a salve to the worst wounds, but ignored the smaller ones.
Thendryt stood there, in the absolute silence. No voices, no whispers, no wind, no Elves, not a single sound.
Thendryt re-equipped his chainmail, and his tunic. He tied the straps of his shoulder pads, and kneeled down to equip his boots.
As he was tightening the straps of the plate on his shin an echo filled the halls. Thendryt instantly stopped and listened.
After a long moment he finished his equipment and grabbed one of his bastard swords. The sword made no sound as he drew it.
Someone was in there with him.
Someone needed to be silenced.
