[littlemanpoet]

The cell was cold and dark. Mabalar sat on the floor, his back against the rough stone wall. He could not get the stink of burning flesh out of his nostrils, nor the sight of the dying man's agony from his mind. Yet again he shut his eyes tight against the images racing through his mind's eye; yet again it mattered not. The young man's face, writhing in agony and melting in the heat, burned in his mind.

"Curse you, Sauron," he mumbled with a dry tongue.

It seemed that he had one more day to live. He did not want to die, did not want to feel the seering flames eating his flesh. But that was as naught compared to his heart's will not to lie upon the altar beneath the gloating gaze of Sauron. It must not be! He realized that he was breathing hard with the strength of his desire. He calmed himself, slowly.

What were the chances of his being rescued? He was sure that his beloved daughter Kâthaanî would do all in her power to resuce him, whether he wished her to or not. He did wish it, especially if he could foil at least this small part of Sauron's plan, which had all the look of succeeding in every way imaginable. He saw little hope, and his throat clotted with it. The darkness of his cell and the red fire of the altar seemed to conspire to turn his heart to ashes.

Ah Elbereth! Gilthoniel! Hear me I beg you!
Let not the evil one win in all ways in these troubled days!
May there be found for me a secret path through the night
to a safe haven and into day's new light!

Even as he whispered his prayer, a dim light came into view far down the hall. It was Târik, bringing food and drink.

After he had come in and given Mabalar to eat and drink, and received his thanks for it, Târik asked, "How do you fare, lord?"

"I am alive, though my mind burns with the terrible things I have seen this night."

Târik nodded sorrowfully. "Aye. Tar Míriel sent me to you for the sake of your need. 'Tell him for me, "You are remembered from the uttermost West, and your task must be fulfilled. Do not lose hope."' And she bade me remind you that she has a small treasure that she would save from the doom of Númenor."

"Thank you, Târik. None have reached me here in the deeps of these dungeons with any word of aid. I can only hope."

Târik pursed his lips and nodded. "I will see what I can do on the outside come dawn." With that, Târik left him. And he found that the words of Míriel, and his own prayer, stayed in his memory, and assuaged the terrors. He slept.