Chapter 27

Consciousness struggled in a viscous, dark mire. Meereen felt tossed and swayed, like a boat on a raging sea. A pounding headache and aches rippled through his body, and every jolt brought a wave of nausea. He could vaguely hear the whistling wind and muffled conversations, then sank into a deep, drowsy state. Occasionally, a cold, rough container would be pressed against his lips, pouring a few gulps of water that tasted of earth and leather. This wasn't out of concern, but rather Celegorm and Curufin's desire to ensure their precious prey wouldn't dehydrate before reaching their destination. The mechanical feeding was brief and rough, and Meereen swallowed instinctively in his daze, unable to resist or think further. In this constant tossing and semi-conscious state, the only thing he could clearly sense was the faint yet unwavering warmth emanating from the two Silmarils deep in his pockets, like two sparks in the darkness, sustaining his fleeting sanity.

After an unknown amount of time, the shaking finally stopped. He was vaguely aware of being roughly lowered to the hard, cold ground. He faintly heard the unfamiliar elven voice speaking to Celegorm, with clear impatience and reproach. Then he was lifted, moved, and finally placed on a relatively soft surface, his consciousness sinking once again into the deep pool.

When Meereen struggled to open his heavy eyelids again, he was greeted by a scene utterly unfamiliar. This was not the mountain-clad halls of Gondolin, shrouded in hidden brilliance, nor was it the dreamlike city of Nargothrond, where waters flowed and sunlight filtered through the rock walls. This was a cold, clean-lined stone chamber, its walls made of unpolished limestone, with only a few tall, narrow windows letting in the cool northern light. The air was filled with a faint, blending scent of pine, metal, and an indescribable, unfamiliar land. His last memory was of the dark forests of Lothran Fields, the roar of the pursuing Orcs, and the moment he collapsed from exhaustion...

"Where is this?" Milin's heart was filled with alarm. He sat up suddenly, and the violent movement involved old injuries that had not yet fully healed and the new pain brought by the bumpy road, making him gasp. Almost at the same time, his hand instinctively and eagerly reached deep into his pocket!

His fingertips touched two round, hard objects that exuded a familiar warmth. The Silmarils were still quietly hidden in his closest clothing. This discovery made Meereen's heart almost jump out of his chest, half in relief, half in deeper fear. He immediately pressed them deeper, making sure they were covered by the layers of clothing, leaving no trace.

He forced himself to grit his teeth and glanced around cautiously. The room was simply furnished: a bed, a table, a chair, and the only exit was the heavy wooden door. Milin took a deep breath, mustered his courage, stumbled to the door, and pushed it open.

Outside the door was a dimly lit corridor, also made of graystone. Two elven warriors, clad in armor and wearing eight-pointed star emblems on their chests, stood guard on either side of the door. Seeing Milin suddenly push open the door, they immediately grasped the hilts of their swords, their sharp eyes locked on him like hawks.

Fenorian! This is Fenorian's territory!

Meereen's heart sank to the bottom in an instant. The ambush on the Fields of Lothblue, Celegorm's lasso, Curufin's icy arrows... The broken memories were pieced together in an instant. He was taken to a strange place by the two most dangerous Fëanors, above their territory.

At this moment, a door next to it was pushed open with a creaky sound, and Celegorm's tall and oppressive figure appeared at the door. He leaned against the door frame, his golden hair casually scattered, and there was an extremely uncomfortable mocking smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? Finally awake?" Celegorm's voice was filled with exaggerated surprise, but his eyes were as if he was looking at an object. "I thought you would sleep until the day when Arda was destroyed and Morgoth was victorious, our 'precious' sleeping beauty." He deliberately emphasized the word "precious".

Meereen's heart was instantly ignited with anger, overwhelming his fear and physical weakness. "Celegon!" He glared at the other, his voice hoarse with anger. "Why did you kidnap me? Where is Finrod? Where are my companions?"

"Kidnapping?" Celegorm sneered, straightening up and slowly approaching Meereen. His tall figure brought a strong sense of oppression. "Don't use such harsh words, little one. You should be thankful that you are 'useful' to us. Otherwise..." A cold glint flashed in his gray-blue eyes, and his voice was low and full of threat. "Do you think you still have the strength to stand here and talk to me? Otherwise, my attitude towards you will be even worse. After all, you are not going to die, so it doesn't matter how much I torture you."

Meereen was chilled by the undisguised malice and murderous intent in his words, but his anger kept him from retreating. He knew that it was futile to reason with Celegorm.

Celegorm seemed pleased with the anger and forbearance in Meereen's eyes. He looked Meereen up and down with interest and continued, "But you are indeed interesting, little one. Do you know? Since you came to this Shagelion, even those rivers that were polluted and stinking with Orcs seem to have become clearer." He sniffed exaggeratedly. "Tsk, tsk, this ability to purify filth, is that the guy Turgon hiding in Gondolin using you in the same way? Does he treat you as a walking water purifier?"

"Shut up!" Meereen could no longer hold back and interrupted him harshly, shaking with anger. "You shall not insult Turgon! He is a thousand times more upright than you, than Curufin, than all you Fëanians who know only plunder and betrayal! He gave me shelter and respect, not imprisonment and humiliation like you have done!"

Celegorm's face instantly darkened. He felt deeply humiliated to be confronted and compared to a human. A fierce gleam flashed in his eyes, and as his hand pressed on the hilt of his sword, a cold murderous aura emanated from him.

Just when the atmosphere was tense, Curufin's voice, as slick as a venomous snake, came from the other end of the corridor: "Celegon, why bother to get angry with an ignorant little kid? Don't forget what Maglor told you." He walked slowly over, his gray-blue eyes swept over Meereen with scrutiny and calculation, "Meereen, you'd better control your emotions. No one can save you here. Stay here, and when Maglor comes, you will naturally know your value. Before that, don't cause us trouble, and don't make yourself unhappy." His words seemed calm, but they were more chilling than Celegorm's threats.

Curufin's appearance temporarily suppressed Celegorm's rage.

Meereen was "invited" back to his room by the guards, the door slamming shut and locking behind him. He leaned against the cold stone door and slowly slid to the ground, his heart filled with anger, humiliation, and helplessness. Finrod must have tried to save him... but distant water could not quench immediate thirst. Celegorm and Curufin were nearby, and the security outside was tight. This was Caranthir's territory, and he was isolated and helpless.

Expecting Fëanorion to be kind and let him go? That was impossible. Maglor, the poet who was said to be able to soothe the pain of oaths, he needed him? That didn't sound good!

Meereen forced himself to calm down. Anger wouldn't solve the problem; he had to save himself. He surveyed the stone chamber carefully. The high windows were small, impossible to climb. The walls were solid. The only exit was the heavy door, guarded beyond. Forcing through would be a death sentence.

"I must find a way to escape secretly..." Meereen clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The Silmarils radiated a faint, resolute warmth within his embrace, as if reminding him of his duty: these two holy relics of light must never fall into Fëanorion's hands. He must escape, secretly return to Nargothrond, and seek out Finrod. Only there could he safely handle the two Silmarils and expose the evil deeds of Celegorm and his brother.

A preliminary, extremely difficult escape plan began to germinate in Meereen's mind. He needed time, observation, and the search for weaknesses in this fortress and this land. Shagelion... Caranthir... and the Easterlings who had been placed here... Chaos might be his only chance. He closed his eyes and began to carefully recall the path and surroundings he had vaguely seen when he was carried in. At the same time, he pricked up his ears, catching the rhythm of the guard changes outside the gate and every sound within the castle. The will to survive and protect, like the light of the Silmaril, rekindled in his heart.