This flet is unlike anything you ever expected to see in Lorien. The iron bars in the small window of the only door suggest to you that if you are here against your wishes, you probably have done something very wrong. The only means for your comfort in here are a small row of cots against one wall.
Decorating one of the walls, is a fascinating charcoal painting; defacing one of the others are some crude carvings.
Vindolandia growls from the corner and eyes the elves hungrily.
A thin strand of hithlain rope, glimmering and writhing like a viper, drops from a tree branch above. A gray-cloaked figure slides along the rope, then deftly sprins onto the fleet. The rope is pulled back up just as suddenly as it appeared, while the elf strides toward the cell door. His steps are brisk, and the wind pushes his cloak back, revealing a sheathed longsword on his hip. The elf makes a quick commanding gesture to the guards at the cell door, just as they snap to attention and salute to him, belaying his high rank. His right hand strays to the hilt just as his left one touches the door lock. "<Sindarin> Diplomats had enough time with it", mutters the elven commander, throwing the lock open.
Vindolandia surprised by this sudden arrival, sirks into the dark corner, as if to try and disappear.
The shadow of the tall elf stretches across the fleet as he stands in the door. Behind him, you can see the faces of the cell guards as they are trying to peek over his shoulder. Several voices are heard talking outside, and it sounds like they are having a heated argument. One word seems to be repeated most often in their angry exchange, "yrch".
The elven officer pays no heed to the commotion behind him. Instead, he scans the cell, and, noticing the orc in the far corner, covers the distance separating them in few long paces. As he walks across, in one moment, there is a quick shining blur before him, like a giant spark, and then the sword glimmers in his hand, drawn from its scabbard.
Vindolandia says in Uruk, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>
Vindolandia, after speaking in her own tounge, turns to the elf infront of her and growls in a low grumbling tone.
Haldir comes to a sudden halt just when it looks like he'll walk right into the orc. He stands so close that the cold steel of his blade almost fills the narrow space he left to the orc, cowering in the corner. Looking down, he considers the creature before him, silently and gravely.
Vindolandia spits at the elf and then hisses. Looking away at the other elf she says "Well?"
The expression of the elf becomes even more grave. Without looking at his companion, he drops over his shoulder, "<Sindarin> You seem to have prepared it to meet its fate. What was it, last rites?"
He does not wait for an answer, however, neither does the commotion at the doors, which grows even louder, catch his attention. One of the voices apparently arguing to stay what appears to be an imminent demise of the captive, but the door guards do not let anyone else in. Haldir continues to watch the growling beast for another second, then suddenly the blade strikes like a silver lightning, piercing the creature throught the heart.
Vindolandia screeches and then falls to the floor in a bloody mess. As the blod oozes from her limp body and spills everywhere.
Haldir steps back, then bends to pick a shred of cloth littering the floor, to wipe his blade before sheathing it again. "Tell the diplomats that they can quit arguing about this orc", he drops to Collinmar, before wheeling around on his heels and striding out of the cell.