The Family Line Part 44 – Kronog the Unjust

Part 44 – Kronog the Unjust

Theomin was tossed forcefully into the jail cell. He landed with a thud on the hard cold stone floor of his small jail cell. Barely able to move, he slid himself and then tried to mount his cot, forcing himself up on to it and layed down facing the wall. He did not care the amount of blood that rushed from his face nor the pain of the broken flesh that was starting to become infected. He needed rest enough to make it through another day.

It was his fourth night of beating and each one was becoming more difficult. Though the mayor missed the beating of the first night, he came each night after, crossing his arms and watching with anger in his heart and a thirst for vengeance. The wounds that were inflicted those evenings would heal throughout the coming day but only ruptured again, making the mending process all but impossible. He had lost two teeth in the course of the beatings, one the second day of beating and another one night past. The weakness and fatigue he felt was immeasurable; so much that he did not fall to sleep each night but rather passed out due to sheer exhaustion of the previous night’s inability to sleep.

During the day, though, that was what he did for most. He slept or just layed there on his cot. He was almost forced to eat by Toby. Toby was the only bright spot of the day. Theomin could see why he was a favorite of the prison. Toby Took, each day, showed the same amount of excitement as the days before, waving and hallering, “Hullo!” to every prisoner there, regardless of who they were or what they were imprisoned for. Usually Theomin would be laying down facing the wall but when Toby Took rolled around, he would face the other way and smile with the sight of the little hobbit.

Toby was usually not permitted to enter the prison cells but would make a special exception to the rules, though, as Theomin needed some tender care. He would enter the prison with a cloth and water and dab at Theomin’s wounds. There would be some specially prepared herbs on a tray next to his food specially made for Theomin. They would be placed in his open wounds which helped them heal faster and pain him for much less a time. The joyful delight of the hobbit was all Theomin looked forward to each day. It mattered not to Theomin whether he was fed or not. Just the presence of the hobbit brightened his spirits and made him feel the kindness that he had been missing the past four days.

On the evening of the third and fourth days another came. He aided the hobbit, keeping his distance from Theomin on the other side of the cell bars. He only aided in providing the herbs and moist towels to the hobbit to aid in Theomin’s recovery. He did not look like any of the men from Bree nor was his stature so small as a hobbit’s or a dwarf’s. Thomin knew not his proper name but somehow knew he was an elf. By the evening of the fourth day, he recognized the elf as being the one who called the mayor away on the day just before his first beating. What was he doing in league with the mayor and why was he helping the hobbit cure Theomin?

“Hullo!” the hobbit cheerfully said to Theomin. “Oh, my! What have we here?” he said, looking upon the wounds inflicted by Gerald, the mayor’s son. “You’ve had quite the beating, haven’t you, sir.”

From the other side of the bars, the elf called out to the hobbit, “Here,” and that was all the elf said to him as he opened the cell bar doors for Toby to enter and then passed along the tray of herbs and a damp cloth to the hobbit. As the hobbit cleaned his wounds, Theomin watched the elf stand there, staring at Theomin while with a blank face. What was he doing aiding the hobbit, Theomin wondered silently to himself. Was he trying to keep him alive as long as possible to prolong the amount of beating he had to suffer? If so, how cruel he was to allow such a fate upon Thoemin. That feeling of anger toward the elf did not last long as he passed out into an unrestful sleep.

Through the night visions of the grayish apparitions of the dead haunted him. Mounds of burrials filled a field on the cracked earth. Devilish hounds roamed the field while the dead drifted about, moaning a sorrowful, deep moan. They were clad in ancient silver shirts, gauntlets, and shoulder armor while tattered chainmail were draped below their dead mass. The head was nothing but a skull inside the chainmale hood, missing the mandible below. From that horrible sight came a horrible scream. A scream that pierced the air so violently that it shook Theomin making his blood run cold.

He awoke from the ghastly dream to hear the scream not coming from his dream but rather coming from the cell block across the way. Delicatly Theomin rose his head as best he could. It was Eleswith screaming as loud as she could, holding on to the bars, shaking them violently. Guards quickly ran over to her, screaming at her to shut up but she did not. She continued to yell incomprehensibly. The only words Theomin could discern from her were, “Please!” and “Theomin!” and “Sorry!” Everthing else was tough to understand, nor did Theomin care to understand it. The other guards had enough and opened her cell. Whatever they did seemed to work as she was quickly silenced.

The next day brought more of the same. The little hobbit, Toby, slid his meal under the bars, which Theomin ignored. By then the other prisoner was released, having already served his time. He said next to nothing, only saying “hi” to the hobbit and that was it. The rest of the time he was either sleeping or just laying back, waiting for his sentence to end.

Not Theomin. He had no way out. He was stuck behind the bars, beat up, exhausted, and hungry. He was too weak to eat the gruel that was fixed for him and all the other prisoners. He could not get himself to move an inch to pick up the bowl and eat the food, no matter how hungry he was. The hobbit, before collecting Theomin’s bowl, would give him just a couple mouth fulls of gruel before taking the plate away. Theomin would swallow just a tiny portion and spit out the rest as he could not chew and tried to just swallow it whole. It would mostly make him gag and spit up some. That did not detur the hobbit from caring for Theomin. In the evenings, he was cared for very nicely by that little hobbit. Though he did not really interact with him, he felt close to him and wondered what his story was. Why was he wearing an eye patch? What was his home like? Was it sunny outside? Was it warm outside? He knew not what life was like outside the prison walls. All of those free people, enjoying life out in the sun, doing their daily work, not appreciating, fully, all that freedom had to offer. Theomin was like that. Stuck in the daily routine at home and on the road. He did not take time to stop and just feel the sun’s soft warmth soothing his skin. The sun he longed to feel again.

On the evening of the fourth night another came into Theomin’s prison cell. He could not see him very well as he was in a sort of haze. The man was turned, looking out from his cell. He bore a familiar crimson shirt, had white hair and silver paldrons. Looking at the man it seemed as though he was some kind of warrior. He had the look of a hard fought man with many years of fighting but wisdom to his face. As the man turned Theomin’s body shook as he recognized who was before him. It was being Keymel from Helm’s Deep. But that could not be. Keymel was dead so Theomin knew he had to be dreaming or…he did not want to think of the alternative.

“Why are you lying there, Theomin?” Keymel said, looking down at Theomin. Theomin just looked at Keymel. He thought of answering but could not. “You have to eat, keep your strength up, keep your mind sharp. Riding with Eomer, I know how tough it was to eat when you just cannot find the strength to. Believe me, you have to eat, Theomin. When that man comes back to get you, you will use that strength from that food and you have to fight back. There is nothing for it.”

Theomin finally, with all the strength he had, quietly whispered, “How? I am bound. I am broken.”

“That should not stop a Rohirrim, it should not stop you. You charge him with all you have. Knock him out. Then you take to your feet and make your escape.”

“I cannot,” he said in agony. “I cannot stay up.”

“You stay up. You find something inside of you, that flame, that forces you up and you use that to fight on. We all have it. You have that flame in you. I saw it in Helm’s Deep with the little girl. I saw it in that orc camp. You charge at that man and when he is down, you escape.”

Theomin knew not how the bowl of gruel got close to him, but it was on the floor next to his bed. He reached down and grabbed a small wooden spoon sitting inside the slop. He spooned the food to himself slowly as the pain of movement was too much as he reached down and scooped more gruel and fed himself. He chewed it, as painful as it was, and swallowed the food. After a few mouthfuls of gruel, he passed out.

He soon awoke to two guards, one who opened the prison gate and another grabbing Theomin forcing him against the wall and binding his hands. He then pushed him over to Gereld, who had the same disgusting grin plastered to his face. Theomin looked back to Keymel, “You charge him,” was all he said.

Theomin was pushed out the door of the prison. It was night and the bitter cold stung at Theomin. The night was foggy and dark. It was tough to see just in front of him as it mattered very little to Theomin as he was exhausted, trying to keep his feet. More than once he ran into posts or walls or fell onto the ground. “Get up, man of Rohan!” Gerald said, forcing him up and pushing him along as he just continued to push him forward to the place where he beat Theomin for so many other nights. Throughout the journey to the grave site, he thought back on Keymel and his words of insight. He thought long and hard about what he said. In his mind, he looked hard to spark that flame to fight back. All the cracking and the bruising made it tough for Theomin to concentrate on that flame he tried to find. They got to the grave site where he had beat up for the past four nights.

Gereld’s father was nowhere to be seen but there was another tied up right beside Theomin. It was Eleswith. Theomin looked at Geraled, shocked, “What is this?”

“Father wants her to share the same sentence as you. I am fine with it. I have been wanting to kill this horrid, idealistic girl from Dale since I met her. Now I have my chance.”

“You’re sick,” Eleswith said to Gereld, “and you’re a coward. You can only fight people who are tied up, you disgrace.” He cared not what she said as he punched her. She took it quite well as she continued to mock him, “You can’t do better than that?” Gereld took that as a sign. He kicked her in the stomach as she fell back. She rose up, defiantly.

Theomin felt enraged. He could not bear seeing her being beaten as bad as he was. As he saw Gerald punch her again and again, he began to understand what that flame meant. His breath became fast as he finally had enough. He rushed Gerald but Gerald moved to the side and knocked him down. “Theomin!” Eleswith yelled as Gerald back handed her face.

Theomin rose up but Gerald pounded his back, forcing him back down. “What were you going to do, man from Rohan?” He kicked Theomin while on the ground. “Were you actually going to fight me?” Gerald chuckled and shrugged off the humor with another kick. “You’re the disgrace. You disgrace all of your ancesters in Rohan. Now I know Rohan is not but a weak inbred rabble whose son’s sleep in the barn with the pigs.”

“Kronog, stop it!” Eleswith yelled at Gerald desperatly.

“Shut up, woman,” He slapped her with the back of his hand. “Do you know how long I have wanted to do that? I am tired of men and women and dwarves and hobbits coming to my land, stinking up my town with their own smell and their own food and their own customs. You have the stink of dwarf on you. Dwarves are the plague of the men of Breeland.”

Theomin rose up while Gerald was diverted, berating Eleswith with his nasty words. He then gathered all the strength he could muster charged Gerald. Finally, he rammed into Gerald and forced him into a wall of stone. Theomin fell to the ground, hardly able to stay up when he saw Gerald fall next to him, knocked out. Shocked but still very weak, Theomin looked at Gerald and then at Eleswith, “Did I do that?”

Instead of Eleswith looking at Theomin, though, she was looking elsewhere. Theomin turned and in mist of the night the elf, whom seemed in league with the mayor, stood there staring at Theomin. In his hand he held a club and on his face a determined and urgent look. “Come, I will lead you out of Bree.”

Special thanks to Arathaert for playing Toby Took.