They brought him into a townsquare.

Atleast, that was what Tathar could hear of. Bustlings of roads, thousands of footsteps, and hushed whispers exchanged as he was shoved forward. The blindfold was back on his eyes.

They undid the bounds on his legs, so he could walk, yet a large dagger pressed to his back was more than enough warning.

They seemed to walk pass a courtyard. There were many words spoken, yet none Tathar could decipher. He heard a slight whistle in the air, narrowly dodging what he pressumed a flying rock. It hit the man behind him instead, whom fell with a loud cuss, which nearly made Tathar laugh with mirth.

They walked for a quite while. The sun was burning hot against his skin, and his throat felt dry. His feet thumped lightly against the sand underneath. He was in Rhûn, definitely, as the words spoken were foreign, and it was a desert where he was by now.

Had they been captured for that long?

They were approaching a building. A large building it seemed, very crowded. Tathar felt sudden cold air as they entered said building, made from cold stones.

His blind was taken off before he was shoved inside a room. Or rather, a cell. Tathar fell on the cold stone as the cell's door closed. The metal hinges creaked loudly as it was slammed close and locked.

Tathar squinted his eyes to the sudden darkness. The cell was quite large, completely empty and made out of entirely stone. The cell was parted into three 'rooms', sepparated by sets of metal cages. There were two doors, on each opposite sides, at every parts of the cell. The one where Tathar came from looked like a block of metal, spare the tiny cages that became the only source of light. The other door however, was different.

Tathar shuffled to stood up. He leaned his head as far as he can, towards the cages of the upper part of the door. It looked like a trap door, towards a field of sand with walls looming over it.

He was interrupted as the cell door opened and came in Lalaith with Haulë. Each at the different parts of the room. Their men yelled before closing the metal door loudly. A resounding 'ka-chunk' followed.

Lalaith yelled as he slammed his shoulder at the door. Tathar flinched slightly whence a loud bang was heard. That ought to hurt.

Yet, Lalaith did not stop. He kept slamming to the door, yelling, kicking, cursing in both silvan and sindarin tongue. He yelled for his brother, Mailithin, cursing all those men to the depths of fire and doom.

"Lalaith, daro." Tathar said. Though it was not heard by the younger elf.

"Daro, Lalaith!" Tathar repeated, louder.

Lalaith stopped. He was breathing rapidly, his eyes wide, as he slid down to the ground. Eyes shut.

They were silent for a while. Haulë was busy humming, rapting his fingers slowly to the wall. Tathar caught his gaze, Haulë's pale eyes glazed and staring straight beyond him.

It was a wonder truly, why on earth none of those men realized blindfolding Haulë would not be necessary, as he'd lost his sights ages ago.

"Mi van gwe [Where are we]?" Haulë asked, softly.

"Rhûn." Tathar said.

Haulë's hands wandered over to the doors.

"I heard loud noises."
It was no shock that Haulë had better sense of hearings, as he depended of them the most, developing much sensitive ears than any elves.

"Of what?" Lalaith asked, almost quietly.

Haulë hummed,
"Men, I think. Loud cheers. I suspected it was a celebration, a very large one at that." As he uttered those words, loud round of cheers were heard, followed by a bloodcurling scream before another round came.

Tathar dashed for the trap door, along with Lalaith. For the noises came from there. Tathar pressed his cheeks against the cold metal, watching as a large burly man slammed his giant club towards a man wielding a spear.

They were both bloody, greased and bruised. The spear-wielding man fell as the club connected his head. A resounding crunch was heard, and crowds cheered as a pool of red formed. The larger man let out a roar as he raised his fists. People cheered.

Realization slammed his head like a troll's club. Tathar felt his head spun. Dread settled in him.

What had he done?

His stomach plummeted whence Haulë's trap door opened. And a man walked, carrying a whip with a large grin on his face, further confirming Tathar's suspicions.

It's an arena.

It's a public arena.

X

"Faster Hasador! Faster!" Nile yelled as a boy came into few, his dark hair flying in the wind.

The two eight years old were up on a sand hill, running as fast as their legs could move.

"I think it started!" Hasador called as he looked up to the sun. It was high-noon, surely the fight had begin long ago.

"Then let's hurry!" Nile called.

Hasador huffed, turning his heels sidewards so he could skidded himself to stop from running. His feet buried in the sand a moment before he was leaping back into a sprint. Chasing Nile.

They ran through the square with short excuses and apologies, leaping over wooden crates and dogs that stood before them. Hasador ran inside a stand selling carpets. He jumped and landed with a roll, dodging the shop owner's flying broom as he cackled.

His long hand shot out to snag two apples from a stall. He threw one at Nile, whom caught it effortlessly as they kept running.

A tall, dark colored stone building came into their view. It was built like a fortress, with guards stationed almost every where. Funny that the truth was, the building was a public arena. A very known one at that.

It was no wonder however, as the arena had elves.

Yes. Elves. Mythical savage beasts. 'Best for fights', Hasador's father would always say. And true it was, for it was always exciting to watch their fights.

"Hasador!" Nile waved at him, for he found seats even in this sea of people. Hasador passed many men making bets,-their coin bags jiggled-, as he made his way.

They sat down. Nile took a bite of his apple.

"Thankfully, we are not late. They had only begin the opening fight."
Hasador also took a bite of his apple. The sweet juice filled his mouth.

"Men and women!" The Master,-owner of the arena-, boomed, clad in his brightly colored silk robes with many gold rings adorned his fingers.

Hasador cheered along with the crowds.

"Welcome to The Arena! Today, we shall present to you the best fight ever,-as we always did-. Of a man, with an elf!"
Hasador was deafened by the cheers and claps, as whence the Master spoke, one of the metal doors opened.

Out came a large man, with gold paints all over him and a large emerald earring dangled from his right ear. He raised his long jagged broadsword, and roared. The crowds went wild.

The Master began to drawl out a long speech, yet Hasador's attention was not caught to it. He was, instead, staring at a trap door in far left corner. Hidden from most sights.

There seemed to be a ruckus. Men came in and out, yelling. They all carried whips.

The Master's speech was interrupted whence a loud yell came from the trap door. There was a pause, the crowds murmured, the large man growled, and Hasador stared. Taking a bite out of his apple, before chewing it. Very, very slowly.

A man wearing a deep purple turban hurriedly walk to the Master. He whispered something to the Master's ears, before he was waved away, dismissed.

"Men and women,"
Hasador's attention immediately turned back to the Master.

"May I present to you,"
A figure was shoved out of the trap door roughly. Bloodied and limp. Hasador's eyes caught the gaze of the elf, his dark eyes met the elf's steel greys.

Hasador put his apple down.

"The elf..!" The Master boomed, rolling the words. Yet Hasador could not hear him.

Hasador gazed at the elf's clothes. Torn apart, with fresh blood staining it, dripping slowly down to his fingers to the sand. Open wounds were visible in his eyes, flogging marks. Flesh torn apart like fabric.

Hasador caught his breath. The large man moved towards the elf, his sword raised.

It was so sudden when the elf moved.

Like a lightning strike, the elf lunged towards his side. Succesfully dodging the sword. Crowds cheered, Hasador stared.

The elf rose up, strangely calm. Yet his eyes assessed the man he faced like a bird of prey, searching. Calculating.

The man striked again.

The elf moved like a fluid, like water. He side-stepped the sword with ease, then returned to his previous stance. When the man swung his blade, the elf dove in. Swiftly handled the man's burly neck, then shoved the man down.

The man held his ground, as he was nearly five times larger than the elf. The man grinned, showing his fangs as his hands went for the elf.

The elf moved so fast that Hasador's eyes could not follow him. He flitted pass the grabbing hands. Then he bent his heels down, dodging yet another blow as he rolled to the other side.

The man fought like a deranged beast, with wild eyes. Wild movements, like an angry bull with unsated bloodthirst. Sweat dripping, brute and gritty.

The elf was a contrast, as he fought with calculated movements. He looked like dancing, weaving in and out. Striked once, then fell back in defense. His agility was better than any dancers Hasador ever seen in his life.

It made him wonder which was the actual 'beast'.

At one point, the man lunged for the elf witha roar. In retaliation, the elf jumped. Landed on the man's head lightly, before leaping off into a sommersault.

The elf landed behind the man on all fours, before quickly switching his hands. The elf moved so fast that the man,-nor anyone-, could never see him coming. The elf was suddenly leaning on his hands, as he slammed his feet to the large man's face.

As the man staggered in the sudden pain, the elf swept the man's legs of the ground.

He fell with a loud whump.

Hasador's attention was focused entirely of the fight.

The elf snagged the man's large broadsword. Hasador really thought the elf would finish it then and there, and the fight would be over, untill he watched as the elf hesitated. Staring at the sword.

In that moment, Hasador could've sworn he screamed a warning. Yet even if he did, his yell would be swallowed by the crowds' deafening cheers and yells. As the large man began to stand up, sneering.

The elf was too late to realize it, as the man slammed his fist to the elf's stomach. He grabbed the elf's neck, slammed him to the ground once, before throwing the elf across the arena like a rag doll.

Hasador craned his neck so that he could see the elf. He was alive, since the elf shifted into a crouch, seemingly in pain. Yet the man was coming, and he did not look happy.

The man raised his broadsword. Wicked grin splayed on his face.

But then, something almost unthinkable happened.

The elf threw a fist full of sand into the man's face. The man coughed, spluttered in surprise as the elf lunged for his head. He clung onto the man's beefy neck as if for dear life, before then vaulting over the man's shoulder.

There was an unmistakable 'crack' as the man's neck turned backwards. Hasador cringed slightly, staring into the man's now glossy and lifeless eyes. The man fell, for ever this time. Silence hung almost thickly in the air as Hasador watched the elf panted, standing while holding his bleeding shoulder.

Nile turned to him in surprise when Hasador started clapping. Few people saw him, and began to join in. Clapping, slowly, then fastening as they all stood up. Cheering and whooping.

It was a wild show.

They locked gaze once more as the elf was dragged away into the trap door. Hasador stared at him with a scrutinizing gaze, and a silent respect.

If he ever was to grow up, he wanted to be able to fight, just like the elf.

X

I. AM. BACK. *flips hair* YA MISS ME??

....MEH.

Okay, I'm going to stop being a child for once and start adulting. *coughs*

.....

Update : I'm not an adult.

SO YEAH. RHÛN. IDK MAN I LOVE RHÛN. THE IDEA THAT WE ARE NOT EXPLORING (*cough*exploiting*cough*) TOLKIEN'S WORLD AS MUCH AS IT WAS SUPPOSED TO DRIVES ME MAD. OKAY????? OKAY. GOOD.

Rhûn ish awesome okay shush.

Jk. Everything iS AWESOME.

'Kay I'll stop now.

Translations :
-Daro = Stop
-Mi van gwe = Where are we

((Icantbelievethischapterisbasicallyjustmysonssobsomg))

Reviews are welcomed and enjoy! Aragorn's coming back in the next chap so, stay tuned!