A/N Welp, this idea has been rattling around my brain for a long time, so I figured, what the Hell, why not? I mean, sure, the whole kidnapped and forced to dance plot isn't exactly new or anything, but this is my take on it, and I doubt anyone has done one quite like this! And chapter one is a little short, but I just need to get the brain juices goin. So, before I start rambling, on with the show! Faramir, would you do the honors?
Faramir: Of course! Miss TwistedAngel08 does not own Lord of the Rings, or any other work by J. R. R. Tolkien. She does however own a very creative imagination.
Aww, thanks! As always, I must warn you! This chapter is extremely tame, but later on there will be language, gay love, violence, possibly sex, etc. etc. Don't like it? Don't read! Please enjoy, and remember to R&R!
The prince watched the dancer with cold, calculating eyes. The girl was quite beautiful, and moved with such sweet lithe as would make an elf jealous, but somehow... nothing she did satisfied him completely. Even as the girl gyrated herself against him ever so teasingly, he felt no change. He let her go on like this for another quarter hour, but finally, with a sound of disgust, he waved a hand to the guards, signalling for them to take the girl away. She struggled as the men handled her roughly, dragging her out of the dinner hall.
"Be careful with her!" the prince's brother called. The guards looked at Prince Boromir for confirmation, who shook his head as if snapping out of a daze. Then, he nodded, sighing. "No change then, Brother?" the younger prince, Faramir asked. Boromir grumbled under his breath, looking at his brother who sat beside him.
"I'm starting to think that nothing will work, Faramir. I'm starting to think that witch lied to me, that I'm never going to be fixed." Faramir shook his head, smiling sympathetically.
"No, don't think like that. You must remain optimistic about the future. Everything will work out, I'm sure of it," he said cheerily. Boromir huffed, slamming a hand on the arm of his chair.
"If I cannot remedy this curse, I cannot become king, and if I do not become king, then Gondor will continue to be run by that despicable group of inbred swine!" he exclaimed. "The Council of Twelve is meant to be temporary fix, not a permanent installation!" Everyone in the hall sank back against their chairs, worried by the angry prince. But with a disappointed look, Faramir quieted his brother.
"You must be patient, Boromir. The perfect maiden is not about to fall into your lap," he scolded. The prince nodded, knowing his younger brother was right. Then he noticed Faramir fidgeting.
"What is it? What are you thinking?" be demanded. Faramir, flinched, then sighed.
"Well, has it uh, maybe occurred that maybe you are not looking for a, um, woman?" he asked hesitantly. Boromir blinked, then burst out laughing. Others joined in until the entire hall shook with laughter. It was a silly prospect, the prince lusting after another male, and even the very goblets from which they drank seemed to twinkle with good humour. The only one who did not laugh, however, was Faramir, and after a moment, his brother noticed.
"You're not joking, are you?" he asked quietly. The laughter slowly died as Faramir shook his head.
"Brother, I know it sounds repulsive, but it is a possibility, and frankly, it seems to me that you are running out of options." Boromir began to stand up, gently quaking with fury, but quickly sat back down once more, thinking hard. After a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Perhaps you are right..." he mumbled. Everyone gasped. "What?!" the prince snapped. ""It is not as if I fancy the idea any more than you, but what other choice do I have?" Boromir sighed as he signalled for a guard to come to his side. He whispered to the man before sending him off again, slouching back into his seat in a most unprincely way. "Leave us!" the angry prince called to the others in the hall. As they all filed out, Boromir said, "Let us see if you are right, Brother. Let us see..."
Three years later...
I woke up on the hard, cold, and unsettlingly damp ground, a pounding in my head, and shackles around my wrists. I groaned slightly and kept my eyes clenched shut, not sure of what was going on. Then, with a sharp movement I sat up, wincing at the pain in my head from moving too fast. My sensitive ears detected music from afar, but it was not like anything I was familiar with. Unlike the sweet, lilting songs of my people, this music was fast-paced, primal, and filled with raw energy. Hesitantly, from fear of blinding myself with any potential bright light that might be waiting, I opened my eyes, somewhat disappointed that there was no bright light. Indeed, there was not much light at all, and nothing could be made out clearly. Only shapes could be discerned in the dim lighting, but one thing was clear: I was in a cell of some sorts, held prisoner by... who? Who on the Earth would be so foolish as to kidnap a prince of elves? I sighed, startled when someone sighed back. How could I have not heard them breathing? I could not remember the last time someone had managed to sneak up on me.
After a moment of hesitation, I said, "Who is there?" My voice was rough and gravelly from sleep, making me frown. How long had I been unconscious?
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," a voice answered. It was smooth and filled with bemusement. "And who do I have the privilege of speaking to?" the man- for the voice was clearly male- asked. I cleared my throat, holding my head high despite the fact that the man most likely could not see me.
"I am the prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, son of Thranduil, and I demand to be set free, lest the wrath of a superior race be rained upon you, and whatever establishment this may be!" I said grandly. I held back a huff when I heard the man snort.
"Establishment? I think that's a much too civilised term for this castle, Legolas," he said darkly. "And as for you being a prince, I assure you, you would not be here if Prince Boromir had not payed quite a hefty sum for you. I regret to tell you this, but superior race or not, if you are an elf, as I suspect, there is simply not enough of your kind to put up a fight." He paused, almost as if for dramatic effective as I silently fumed over his insolent words. "It is something I've seen many times working under the prince. He finds a pretty man or maiden, shows off his army, offers gold and takes what he wants. Trust me, Legolas, if you are here, chances are you will remain here for the rest of your days."
Aragorn spoke no more after that, no matter how hard I tried to coax a word out of him. Finally, I gave up in favour of exploring my cell. It was quite large, and had a few pieces of furniture, though they felt moth-eaten to me. I was not about to sit on the chair, let alone lay my head down to sleep in the disgusting bed. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I looked to see my jailer, but was discontented to see that he was clad in a travelling cloak, and with the hood up his face was shrouded in darkness. He saw me looking and waved, further aggravating me. Then, he pulled out what I assumed was a pipe and busied himself with preparing it for smoking. I watched him for lack of anything better to do with my time. Maybe I'll be able to see his face in the glow of the embers, I thought hopefully. To my disappointment, his pipe was so long that all its glow did was cast a darker shadow over Aragorn's face. I sighed quietly, turning away from him. Then, an idea came to me. I was familiar with many forms of locks, perhaps I could pick the lock on my shackles. With a smirk, I raises my hands up to my hair to grab the pin I kept just for picking locks. It was not there. Huffing, I checked the other side, thinking I might have switched it. Again, I was met only with my soft hair. No matter, I thought smugly. Surely they would not have checked my clothes! My hands slid up my shirt, touching my warm belly and making me flinch. I searched every piece of my shirt that I could reach, but no pin. Growing rather frustrated, I searched each pant leg, and still came out empty-handed. Finally, with a noise of outrage, I slammed my still-shackled fists against the ground, earning a chuckle from Aragorn.
Whipping around, I snapped, "What. Is so. Funny?!"
"Missing a few things?" he asked coolly. I snarled, snapping to my feet.
"Who searched me?! Who touched me, and who do I need to annihilate when I get out of this infernal cell?!" I struggled to get closer, clutching at the bars that separated us.
He slowly looked up at me and blew a smoke ring in my direction.
"You need to learn to calm down, Elf. Such a temper will not benefit you, no matter the occasion." He sat quiet, motionless except for a few puffs on his pipe. I tried to wait for him to speak, thinking it was some test he wanted me to pass before he told me anything, but soon it became clear that he was not testing me, he was ignoring me. I plopped down unceremoniously with a noise of disgust. How dare he ignore me?
"Will you at least tell me what I'm doing here?" I asked quietly.
He looked at me for a moment before saying, "You're here for the entertainment of a spoiled prince." This day could not possibly get worse, I thought to myself.
All of a sudden, a large woman carrying a lantern burst into the room, squinting at me through the bars. "I am here to get the dancer so I can bathe and dress her!" she announced grandly. I was wrong, the day had just gotten much worse.