Under Cloud and Under Star by StarSpray

Four

Once it was settled that Peony was going to accompany Maglor, wherever it was that he went, they set off, keeping close to the woods and hills where they could not be seen from the road. Maglor said he wanted to return to the temple, in case other prisoners had been taken there. "If they took other Elves there," Peony said as she carefully stepped over a large root jutting out into the game trail they were following, "why didn't they get taken off with you?"

"I am rather singular, especially among the eastern Elves," said Maglor without turning around. "The Men here do not know who I am, but the Enemy would be able to guess easily enough, and he would be delighted to keep me in captivity and torment in Barad-dûr." He spoke almost lightly, but Peony shuddered at the thought. "The others—he hates all Elves, but he would not be particularly interested in any one of them, I don't think."

"That's good," said Peony.

"Mm."

"What?" Peony frowned at his back, wishing it were possible to tell what he was thinking from the set of his shoulders, or the way his hair swung with each step. But all that she could learn from that was that he needed a proper bath and a sturdy hairbrush. "Isn't it good, that the Enemy doesn't want to take them all to—the Black Land?"

"Yes," said Maglor, as he paused to peer out of the wood. "But it also means they may meet whatever fate his servants have in store for them that much sooner. We must make haste. Even if there are no prisoners in that temple, I would see it destroyed."

"It is rather an ugly building," said Peony. "All pointy bits and ragged edges. And it's probably terribly drafty and uncomfortable inside, too. Not very sensible at all." Maglor snorted.

"Give me a proper hobbit hole any day. With nice round doors and windows, and a neat garden, and flowers all over the roof. My mother grows all her herbs atop our hole at home."

"Your people live in holes?" Maglor sounded as though he did not know whether to laugh or not. "That sounds neither sensible nor comfortable."

"Some of your people live in caves!" Peony retorted. "And Cousin Bilbo says the Elvenking in Mirkwood and his folk live quite comfortably in their halls, though he also says most of them live out in the wood—in the trees, which is the least comfortable place I can imagine."

"I have been in far more uncomfortable places than a good and sturdy tree," said Maglor. "I do beg your pardon. Tell me more—" He stopped suddenly, and pulled Peony and Apple behind a thick stand of trees. Peony peered through a small gap in the branches to see a party of Men on horses going past; they were quite close to the edge of the hills, where the trees and bushes ended and the wide grasslands began. The Men rode slowly, often pausing to stand up in their stirrups and look around. Maglor stood very still with his hand on Apple's head, and Apple did not so much as snort or stamp or even flick his tail until the riders passed on. Only when they were long out of sight did Maglor breath a sigh, and Apple bent his head to nose at some grass.

"We'll need to leave the trees soon," said Peony. "The temple is on the other side of the road."

"The brush land extends to the road by the temple," said Maglor. "There, see?" He pointed, and Peony could see the dark shapes of trees and tangled bushes jutting out into the grassland. It lay in the same direction that the riders had gone, but they had little choice but to continue on. Maglor remained in front, seemingly unbothered by his lack of shoes, though he was very careful with his hurt shoulder as he ducked beneath low branches and pushed through stiff-growing bushes.

The sun was sinking westward when they glimpsed the temple in the distance. Dark smoke rose from its roof in a thin dark curl. The setting sun was red, and the light reflected in the window above the doors was very red, like blood. Peony shivered. "You can stay here with the pony, if you wish," Maglor said softly.

"Certainly not!"

They left Apple in the shelter of a few thick bushes, and crept through the growing shadows toward the temple. The sun sank beneath the horizon, and twilight fell like a grey blanket over the world. They crossed the road in a quick dash as the first stars came out, far away on the horizon. The temple loomed up before them, and Maglor led the way around the side, away from the main doors that stood ajar. In spite of the smoke that still curled lazily up from the roof the place was silent as a barrow. What Maglor was looking for, Peony could not guess, until they found it. There was a back door, small and wooden and locked tightly. "This leads down underneath the building," said Maglor. "Where they keep their prisoners."

"What does a temple need to keep prisoners for?" Peony asked.

Maglor shook his head. "Better not to speak of it. Can you open the door?"

"Can I open the door, he asks!" Peony reached into her pocket for her lock picks. "I'll have to tell you about the locks they make for fun at the Lonely Mountain, sometime." She had the door lock picked in just a moment, and the door swung inward on silent hinges. It was very dark inside, though somewhere down the steep set of stairs a red light flickered. The two of them stood for a while, listening hard. Peony thought that she heard a voice, but it was faint and the sound very brief.

"Come," Maglor whispered, and started down the stairs. His bare feet made no sound on the stone. Peony followed, pausing only to push the door almost closed. A small breath of fresh air flowed through the crack, and she took a deep gulp of it before following Maglor down into the darkness.

The passage down was not nearly as long nor quite as frightening as Bilbo had described his own first descent into the dragon's lair, but by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs Peony's heart thudded in her chest like a drum, and she had to keep wiping her clammy hands on her skirt. At the bottom of the stairs the passage opened up a little, and they could see doors on either side of it; a few torches hung on brackets on the walls, red and smoky and foul smelling. There was no sign of any guards, or priests, or soldiers—or whoever was supposed to be in a place such as this. There was a sudden brief swell of chanting somewhere above them, the noise muffled by the stone, and Maglor and Peony both froze. Then there was a cry, swiftly cut off, and the chanting subsided. Peony swallowed hard; Maglor's lips were pressed very thin, and his face beneath the bruises was nearly white.

The doors were all made of sturdy wood and were tightly locked, but there were windows near the top, barred with dark steel, and Maglor peered into them, moving swiftly down the corridor. Peony stayed at his heels. At the end the corridor branched off in two directions, and Maglor strode down the right hand side without pausing to think about it. He kept looking into each room until at last he stopped, so suddenly that Peony ran into the back of his legs. "This one," he said, "hurry." Peony fumbled with her lock picks; the tumblers in these doors were quite heavy. But she had the door open after a second try, and Maglor ducked inside. The air that spilled out of the cell was stale and smelled of unwashed bodies and of blood. Peony stepped back, and looked around, half-expecting someone to appear and demand to know what they thought they were doing there. It would not end well for anyone if that happened, she thought.

Maglor reappeared, helping to support a thin, lanky figure in dirty rags. They blinked a few times in the torch light, which must have been very bright indeed after the utter darkness of the cell, and looked at Peony in surprise. "Stay here," Maglor said, speaking to both of them, and leaned the figure against the wall before checking the rest of the cells in that corridor. Then he went to look down the left-hand side, and after a moment called Peony over to him. "These two," he said, pointing to a pair of doors opposite each other. While Peony worked at the locks he fetched the first rescued prisoner.

There were two people in one of the cells, and a single person in the other. They all came out without needing help, though they were a bit unsteady and all of them as bruised and battered-looking as Maglor had been when Peony first saw him. "Quickly," Maglor whispered, "before someone comes." They shut all of the cell doors and made their way to the back door. The steps were difficult for the first rescued prisoner to manage, but they got there in the end.

It was full night when they emerged, and after Peony shut the door behind them they stood for a time in silence. No alarm was sounded, and no voices could be heard, or footsteps. Peony leaned around the corner and saw no one, only the dark shapes of the bushes across the road. "Go," Maglor whispered. "Wait for me across the road."

"What are you doing?" Peony asked.

"You'll see. Hurry!"

Peony led the way, keeping close to the wall of the temple, which felt cold even though it should have held lingering warmth from the evening sun. She and her new companions paused for a long, tense moment before deeming it safe to cross the road. They could not dash, but they shuffled and stumbled as best they could, and when Peony looked back the doors remained closed, the building silent. "Apple is this way," she whispered, and plunged into the brush.

Apple was where he had been left, dozing contentedly. He roused when they returned, and nuzzled Peony's shoulder. She stroked his nose and peered back through the brush at the dark, silent temple.

The prisoners all sank to the ground to catch their breath. The worst off leaned heavily on one of their companions. In the dark and beneath the shapeless rags they wore it was hard to tell whether they were men or women. "I have food," she said, "and water. Just give me half a moment." She dug through her saddle bags until she found some flat bread and the water skin and the bag of dried fruit. They took it with smiles and thanked her in a strange language. Only then did Peony realize that they didn't know the Common Speech. Of course, why should they? In Rhûn the only folk who knew it were the ones who had dealings with the western lands. But they understood the offer of food and drink well enough, and Peony could only hope that Maglor would join them soon to avoid any future awkwardness.

A loud crack! suddenly split the night. Peony jumped, and the others started, and one rose to peer back at the temple. Peony turned to see a figure dash across the road just as the temple began to crumble, like bread crumbs. The figure made straight for them, and to Peony's relief it turned out to be Maglor. "Come," he said, gasping for breath. "We must go. Back to the hills, I think." He roused the others, speaking to them in their own language. It had taken all day to get from the hollow with the spring back to the temple, and that was moving steadily—now they had to find another place to hide for the rest of the night, and perhaps the next day. Maglor went ahead of them once everyone was on their feet, returning every now and then with encouraging words or to give directions or warnings. He was as weary as anyone, stumbling as the moved, but he did not stop.

At last they reached the hills, and passed between the feet of two of them to find a cave. It was deep enough to make Peony nervous, but Maglor had done a more thorough search of it than Cousin Bilbo's Dwarf friends. It was clean and empty and big enough for the six of them as well as Apple. The extra things Peony had stolen earlier that day were distributed as everyone sat down to huddle together as the night's chill grew.

Maglor crouched at the mouth of the cave, rubbing his wounded shoulder. Peony wrapped herself up in her blanket and leaned against the wall; beside her, Apple had returned to dozing. Someone started to hum a soft tune, like a lullaby. Before Peony could rouse herself to see who it was, her eyes had slipped shut, and she fell asleep.