The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

[finrod]

Finrod tries every spell that might corrode the metal into rust, and every spell of strength he can remember to break the chain binding him. It's only when these fail that he thinks of the basic principles of metalwork. The links and bands of steel will have seams for all their outward smoothness. He focuses on the centre chain link first, but though it grows hot enough that he can burn his fingertips if he stretches to touch the chain, the solder does not fail.

He sighs and jerks on the chain in frustration. The cuts on his neck itch. He recalls the girl's - Rae's - words.

"Strong blood makes good magic."

A shiver runs through him even as he finds the joint in the band on his left wrist. It grows red-hot, but he concentrates hard enough to ignore the worst of the pain, even as blood begins to trickle over the metal. He can feel the metal give, bends it on the rung of the chair just enough to work his hand free...

From there it's easy enough to snap the length of chain that had linked his wrists together, and he throws the broken band into the water as soon as he gets out of the room. He can't ignore his wounds indefinitely, and a hot, sick feeling courses through him. Still, he keeps his footsteps silent.

---

_{So, from here we'll play in comments for the rescue party arriving and ensuing chaos!}

Comments

[boromir_of_gondor]

Nobody plans to get killed, and I'm here to make sure it doesn't happen. *stops suddenly and grabs Finrod's shoulder* *whispers* I see shadows ahead.

[finrod]

*stops as well, peering into the darkness; whispers* Elf. *leaves off the 's' so they're less easily heard*

[second_time_around]

*waiting in the shadows, unseen, with Theoden by his side; whispers* Be ready.

[finrod]

*listening carefully, trying to discern any voices*

[second_time_around]

*realizes it's Finrod, even though he can't see him yet; whispers* Nephew.

[princetheoden]

Oh. That's better. *quietly, standing down, wishing they had some damn light*

[finrod]

*really quite surprised, but relieved as well that it is not the cult elves* ...Fëanáro?

[second_time_around]

*hushed voice* Yes. Are you well? *can't see him really in the dark, but senses something is not well*

[finrod]

*whispers* For the most part.

[second_time_around]

You should get out of here. You need to see a healer. Go with Theoden, and the rest of us can take care of what remains of these murderers.

[princetheoden]

You want me to leave? *frowns*

[second_time_around]

I think you should take my nephew out of here. He needs a healer.

[princetheoden]

*doing the math about elves, night vision, and relative strength* Sir? *to Finrod*

[boromir_of_gondor]

I've tried to get him to leave, but he insists on staying. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.

*leans around, surprised* Theo? I thought you had escaped to the surface.

[princetheoden]

Nope. Still... you know, in the sewers, facing death. Sir. I'm glad you and Nyel are okay.

[second_time_around]

*turns when he hears this* Damn it.