As always, I do not own these characters. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes, as I am certain that I overlooked some of them! Please leave a review on your way out. I'd love to know what you thought.
xxx
Water dripped steadily. A crash sounded from some distance away. The elf lie on the cold, damp concrete floor, slowly regaining consciousness. Where was he? His eyelids flickered open. As he surveyed his surroundings, his heart dropped. He was here in this dreadful place again.
How had he gotten back here? His mind began to piece things together for him. He had been removed from his cell deep underneath Sauron's tower and taken elsewhere, where he had been brutally flogged and otherwise tormented. Once Sauron and his minions had had their fun with him, he had been returned to this cursed dungeon.
It was not the first time such an instance had occurred. The elf had been trapped here for a week now, as nearly as he could guess, for who could tell when deprived the luxury of seeing the light of the sun and the shimmer of stars? In that time that had passed, he had grown accustomed to the beatings that took place, for no reason but to provide sadistic amusement for Sauron and his minions.
The elf's father, Thranduil, king of all Mirkwood, should have searched over every inch of Middle Earth for his son by now. But had he really? The elf cringed as his mind lingered on the argument he had had with his father the morning before being abducted by Orcs and brought to this miserable place. Of course his father would come though. They had their share of squabbles, but surely something that trivial would not cause the Elf king to let his son suffer here. No, the elf loved his father dearly despite their differences and had confidence in him.
The elf forced himself to a different subject, ashamed that he could doubt his father's desire to rescue him, hating how this place was slowly changing him. His head throbbed while his back ached as if it had been set on fire. He could scarcely breathe without causing himself more pain. He moved his hand to touch his wounded back and nearly wretched, not only from the sting of it but from the sickening picture of himself the touch brought forth to his mind, as he could tell that most of the skin on his back had been torn away by Sauron's whip.
Overall, the elf was a terrible display. Wounds littered his dirty body. His clothes were torn and bloodied. His once golden hair was disheveled from being pulled and soiled. He had been given just barely enough water to survive, and the fact that he had not eaten since his kidnapping was starting to show. The only thing that had gone untouched was his face. It had crossed the elf as slightly odd, but he decided to think nothing of it.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded on the floor above him. A rat scurried by his face, seeking a place to hide. The elf watched as the animal vanished into one of the dark corners, desperately wishing that he could follow, because he knew what was happening. They were coming for him, sooner than he had expected.
The door opened and Sauron walked in, his image as terrible as ever. He was clad entirely in black, looking like something that had come from beneath the ground. The elf could feel the malice that flowed from every bone in the dark lord's body. Behind Sauron's figure, an Orc pulled the heavy door shut. A moment later the door's lock sounded, leaving them alone. Sauron walked closer, silent save for the echoing of his steps. Reaching the elf's side, he halted and stared down at him wordlessly.
What was happening? The elf's mind began to race. Sauron had never come to him before. Granted, he had encountered him many times during his captivity, but he had been the one to be taken to Sauron, not the other way around. A second later his thoughts were interrupted.
"Hello, Legolas," Sauron said, breaking the silence.
"What do you want of me?" the elf demanded, glaring coldly at his captor, remaining defiant despite his inability to so much as stand to face his opponent.
"Nothing," Sauron replied. He leaned down to the elf's level; almost kneeling on the ground, close enough for Legolas to smell his rancid breath, eyes darkening with every second. "Save every drop of blood that runs through your veins."
Legolas glared at him before spitting in his face. "And you shall not have it," he declared.
The elf heard Sauron mutter something under his breath in disagreement. Legolas knew what the consequence of his action would likely be; but to his surprise, the next thing he felt was not searing pain, but instead a hand, gently stroking his cheek. The elf eyed Sauron, bewildered by his actions, despising his touch.
"It's such… pretty skin," Sauron breathed.
The words sent chills up Legolas' spine as he endeavored to hide the panic he could feel beginning to swell in his gut, the fear of what Sauron had in store for him. Sauron locked eyes with him for a moment before pulling a knife from his pocket, calmly flicking the blade open. Now, in place of his fingers, he used the metal to slowly trace over the elf's cheek.
"You know," he whispered. "It would be a shame if skin this beautiful were to be ruined." He pressed the knife harder into the flesh, drawing blood. "Oops."
The elf flinched. "I do not fear you," Legolas said stubbornly, determined to remain strong. "As we speak my father has every force in Mirkwood out looking for me. He will raze this place to the ground when he discovers my whereabouts. Then you will have nothing; you will be nothing, save another vile worm cursing the streets with your presence."
His rebellion did not pass unpunished this time, as Sauron's hand swiftly met the elf's face, leaving behind a glaring red print.
"Your father," he replied, "will be of no help to you if you are already dead."
The elf lie on the ground, slightly stunned by his answer, unsure of how to reply. Until now Legolas had believed that he would make it out of this alive, that he would be released when Sauron had gained whatever it was he was after. Now the elf was not so certain.
Sauron calmly wiped the trickle of blood off of his knife with his fingers. A grin began to play with the corners of his lips, slowly overcoming his face, causing him to look even more similar to a demon than before. He fingered his blade eagerly. Legolas stared at him, realizing his intentions, and began to quiver.
The elf tried to escape, a useless attempt; he was too weak to put up a real fight. He succeeded only in backing himself into a corner before Sauron landed his knee onto Legolas' chest, pinning him to the ground. Legolas screamed in agony as the gravel and other debris on the dungeon floor dug into his flayed back. Sauron drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the elf's face. Something cracked. Blood leaked from his nose onto his fair skin. Sauron could feel Legolas' heart racing inside his ribs.
"Frightened, are we?" he asked, tone rank with mockery. "Oh no… Don't be. You knew this day would come, no matter how much you tried to deny it. First I will kill you; then the rest of your people… one, by one, by one…"
"Why are you doing this to me?" Legolas moaned, his voice catching on itself.
"Because I enjoy it," Sauron whispered menacingly.
He waited not a second longer before he spun his blade between his fingers and thrust it into the base of the elf's neck; then slid it upward, slowly and deliberately, slitting the elf's throat. Blood spurted from the wound. Eyes bulging in their sockets, his victim gasped for another breath, but failed to receive one. The elf's eyes rolled back into his skull; his head lolled to the side. Underneath him, Sauron felt a fluttering, a struggle, inside Legolas' chest, quickly followed by silent stillness.
The dark lord looked onto the scene wordlessly, his eyes shimmering, slowly lifting the blade from Legolas' neck. His hands trembled, not with shame of what he had just done, but rather of delight. Blood continued to gush from the laceration unabated, dark crimson and sticky, matting the elf's hair and covering the dungeon floor and its previous blood stains left by the last unfortunate guest.
Sauron continued to watch until Legolas' blood was all but spent. Tonight the elf had fed his sickening desire not only to see others bleed, but also to see others fear. He had not missed the glint of it that appeared in Legolas' eyes just before he had driven the knife into the elf's neck. Even the bravest of warriors he had encountered could not hide their fear when presented with their immediate death, and he relished that thought.
Sauron left his thoughts to return to the present. Quietly, he leaned over Legolas' body, his hot breath landing on the elf's cool and paling skin.
"Well," he hissed into the elf's unhearing ear. "It was pretty skin…"
Sauron stood to his feet. Legolas was right. His father, Thranduil, would arrive soon. But this was not something to worry about; rather, it was something to look forward to, for the Elf king would be Sauron's next slaughter victim.