Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.
A/N:
Well, as I expected last week, I have indeed turned into a nervous wreck. I am only one step away from going out of my mind right now, so please forgive me for not writing a long A/N as usual. I know how much you LOVE them. •g• Oh, and I must apologise for not replying to your wonderful reviews this time. I barely managed to get this chapter ready for posting, and I really don't have any time at all. I loved every single review, I swear I did, but I really have to work on my little lecture. It's still two minutes too long! •grumbles• I have to say, however, that quite a few of you were not that far off with your guesses. Gasur is indeed a character from "The Heart of Men", even though he's acquired an alias. He's not Adruran, however - he's too reasonable for something like this. I might put him into another story one day, though, and Cendan (from TWIN), too. I really liked him. Oh, and just to clear up one thing: It was Girion (again, from TWIN) who sent Adruran and his merry men to Lake-town, not Acalith's husband. That's why they didn't want to return to him with the news of their failure - honestly, who can blame the poor guys? •g• It seems that this IS another long A/N. Typical. Anyway, here's the next chapter, yes, WITH the torture. There is also a little bit of Erestor in the end (there's more to come in the next chapter, though), and lots of Aragorn and Legolas. Who are being stupid. Very much so. •thinks• Hmm, to be perfectly honest, it's not much EXCEPT torture. •frowns• I need professional help. Lots and lots of it. Have fun and review, please!
Chapter 21
Legolas was no stranger to confusion.
He had been in situations where nothing and no one had made the remotest bit of sense; even in many situations. Most of said situations had been during the last few years, more precisely ever since he had met Aragorn. Most of the time he hadn't the faintest idea what the man was talking about; confusion was simply a by-product of spending any amount of time with him.
Right about now, however, he was not merely confused. He was also completely incredulous and close to believing that he or one of his ancestors had done something terrible to someone very important in a former life, most likely to one of the Valar. He didn't really know what that could have been, especially considering that, as far as he knew, he didn't have any Noldorin ancestors, but it must have been something truly spectacular.
Taking a deep breath, he shortly closed his eyes before carefully opening them again, noticing that Aragorn, too, was staring at the newcomer with eyes that were so wide that they were in the distinct danger of dropping out of his head. When the scene in front of him didn't change in the slightest a few seconds later, he had to admit to himself that this was in fact real and not some sort of phantasm.
The object of their astonished scrutiny was apparently just overcoming some sort of mild shock himself, but judging from the grin that slowly began to spread over his face, he was quickly coming to terms with the new situation.
"Well, well, well," the dark haired man drawled, taking a slow, languid step forward in order to scrutiny his captives. "If that's not the wood-elf and his little ranger friend. Where is your elven companion, the one with the silver hair?"
Legolas raised an eyebrow and looked steadily at the captain, but quickly decided against not answering him. If the man was still the same person he had been five months ago, he would simply relish the chance of being able to use an act of defiance as an excuse for hurting Aragorn or him. Then again, he decided darkly, he would probably not even need any kind of pretence to do something like that.
"I don't know," he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, looking as clueless as possible – something that wasn't all that hard. He really had not the slightest idea where Celylith was at the moment. If he had any sense at all, he would be somewhere safe and far away from here. "Where are the dozens of mindless minions that used to accompany you everywhere?"
"Outside," Aragorn commented wryly, having apparently regained the ability to speak. "They're in uniform this time, but other than that, there are no significant differences."
Surprisingly, Gasur didn't look angry at all and only smiled, the smile of a man whose dearest wish had just been fulfilled.
"For a moment, I wasn't sure whether it was really the two of you, but now all my doubts have been erased."
"Glad we could be of service," Legolas smiled at the dark haired man with a cheerfulness he didn't feel at all. Five months ago this man had been a psychopath whose only goal in life seemed to have been killing him and his friends, and he had the very distinct feeling that he hadn't seen the error of his way or had changed in any significant way.
Gasur turned away from them, ignoring the two prisoners, and gave Reod an intense stare that would nearly have set the other's hair ablaze.
"These two are mine."
"In fact," the chestnut haired man said carefully, eyeing Gasur like a serpent that was about to strike, "I believe that, technically speaking, they belong to our lady."
"They are mine!" Gasur hissed at the other captain, moving closer to him in a way that reminded not only Reod of a predator closing in for the kill. "You know as well as do I that our lady will not deny me this! They are to die anyway, and it will make not the slightest difference to her or anyone else when and how!"
Reod clenched his jaw and plucked up all of his remaining courage, knowing that he couldn't back down so easily with the door open and the guards outside hearing their every word.
"I will not be held accountable for this, Gasur. You need to clear this with our lady or one of the council members first."
"You will not be held accountable for anything," the other man shook his head, obviously working hard on regaining some semblance of control over his emotions. "If anyone will be, it will be me. I would advise you not to cross me in this matter, Reod. You would come to regret it, you can be certain about that."
Reod shuddered inwardly, remembering the way the dark haired elf had looked the last time he had seen him. He knew what Gasur was capable of, and if the rumours were indeed true and he and Lady Acalith… Reod interrupted himself before he could finish that thought, shuddering once more. He would go to great lengths in order to avoid to imagine this.
"Are you threatening me, Captain?" he asked in a low tone of voice, far more calmly than he really was. For a moment, Reod couldn't believe he had really said that. What in the name of all the Gods would he do if Gasur said yes?
Gasur quickly looked over his shoulder, checking the guards' position, before he looked back at the older man, an eyebrow arched mockingly.
"I think both of us know that I do not need to, Reod. You are too ... experienced to look for a fight with me."
Reod fought to keep eye contact with the other captain, but finally found that he couldn't keep looking at the chilling, cruel glint in Gasur's eyes. He lowered his head, once again cursing his cowardice. It might have been a survival instinct or sanity, of course, but he strongly suspected that it was cowardice.
"I do not want to fight with you, Gasur."
"Good to hear that we both agree on this," Gasur grinned maliciously before he jerked his head into the direction of the two chained prisoners. "Let's try this again. They are mine."
Reod shrugged in a nonchalant manner that didn't look all that nonchalant at all.
"If you say so." Gasur merely stared at him without saying anything, and Reod finally decided that he might be afraid of a man who was almost young enough to be his son, but that he was perfectly able of recognising a hint when he saw one. "I will leave you then."
"That would be highly appreciated."
"I will inform our lady of this, however, Gasur. She will hear about this."
"Of course she will," Gasur smiled indulgently, already turning into the direction of the door. "Tomorrow morning, that is. In – let me see – about eight or nine hours."
Even though he was to equal parts surprised, disgusted and furious, Legolas had to nod his head minutely in grudging approval. He had spent enough time listening to diplomats who were threatening each other to realise that … Gasur, was that what he was calling himself now? … had at least learnt some restraint and had also acquired a certain, calculating attitude. Now that he thought about it, it was yet another point on his ever-growing list of things that would ensure that this night would not end well.
Reod, apparently realising when he was fighting a lost battle, merely nodded his head, as stony-faced as a carved marble statue.
"Only one more thing," he said before he turned to leave. "Do not kill them. I know that you have a certain amount of … influence on our lady, but even she will not be pleased if she finds that you have killed these two. Especially considering that the boy's a ranger."
"Who said anything about killing them?" Gasur asked with a thoroughly disconcerting smile. "Where is the fun in that?"
There was nothing he could reply to this, and so Reod merely turned around and left the room without another word. For a few moments Gasur looked after the other man, before he turned back around, gave Aragorn and Legolas a bright smile that served to give him the appearance of an overly happy orc and nodded at the guards standing in front of the open door.
"Get them to the interrogation room and make sure they are tightly secured. I will be there in a few moments." He turned and strode out of the room, but before he had taken more than two steps he stopped and turned back around, giving one of the guards a dark, absolutely serious look. "Oh, and if they manage to get away, I will kill you, slowly. Then I will kill every man in your unit, and then I will kill your friends and families. Am I understood?"
None of the men even blinked, apparently completely convinced that their captain would do just what he had just threatened. Gasur didn't even wait to hear their mumbled affirmatives before he disappeared down the corridor, and half a minute later Aragorn and Legolas were dragged down the same by a group of soldiers who were looking as if they were willing to do about everything to ensure that their prisoners didn't escape. Legolas couldn't even blame them, considering what they had just been threatened with.
A few minutes later, he was pulled to a stop in front of a large, wooden door, and Legolas used the few seconds that the leading soldier needed to select the right key and turn it noisily in the lock to glare at the humans that were restraining him. It showed little effect – which was not all that surprising, especially since their captain was a psychopath, Legolas decided – but it was rather relaxing. He didn't know these people and didn't know their reasons for working for the mysterious lady of this place, but he didn't want to know either. He had lost all interest in such things in the moment they had hurt his friend, and they would be able to count themselves lucky if he didn't kill him outright the next time he got the chance.
The door opened with a loud, ominous sound that Legolas had come to expect from doors leading to such rooms, and while he was being pushed over the threshold, he decided that he had at least managed to memorise the route they had taken. He was a wood-elf, after all; after navigating Mirkwood's vast, dark forests, something like this was child's play. He didn't know if or when this knowledge would become useful, but he would be able to find his way back to their former cell, and from there to the exit. It was about the only positive thing he could think of at the moment.
One of the soldiers rekindled the fire in one of the braziers while another went around the room and lit the torches that had been placed in cracks in the obviously rather old stone walls, and Legolas unconsciously stopped dead in his tracks. There were two or three pairs of iron handcuffs fastened to the walls, at a height that would chain a normal human's hands roughly above his head. Since Aragorn and he were both taller than the average human, it would secure their hands at about the level of their shoulders, something that sounded rather uncomfortable.
It turned out to be rather uncomfortable, too. Prompted by the sight of the shackles and the ominous, dark red stains on the metal chains and the wall, Legolas tried to resist; a very old instinct that had served him well in past told him urgently that he did not want to be put into these chains, and Legolas found that he agreed wholeheartedly.
He tried to shake off the hold the men had on him, but quickly came to realise that he might as well try to arm wrestle a troll. There were simply too many of them, and it turned out that they knew perfectly well that they only needed to hit his injured neck again to make him comply. The blow to his throat left him gasping and helplessly trying to draw breath into suddenly highly uncooperative lungs, and before he even knew what was happening, his arms were wrenched up and something cool and rough snapped closed around his wrist.
The blond elf had finally managed to take a breath by the time the men left the room, but it took him almost a whole minute until the roaring in his ears had diminished enough for him to hear Aragorn call his name, sounding more panicked and impatient with every passing second.
"Legolas! Come now, answer me! Legolas!"
"Yes," the elf all but croaked, trying to touch his hurting throat and finding that, this time, he couldn't move his hands more than half an inch into either direction. "Yes, I'm awake."
"Don't do something like this!" Aragorn chided his friend, staring at him with wide eyes. "You sounded as if you would suffocate!"
"I think I will if one more person confuses my throat with a hay sack," Legolas told him, swallowing heavily and finding that his throat was beginning to swell already. "Don't worry, Estel. I will be fine."
"Worry? Me?" the man asked incredulously, looking at his elven friend with wide, innocent eyes that would have fooled most people. "Why should I worry, my friend? We are chained to a wall that is covered with dried blood, in a town whose ruler had most likely my father's delegation killed for reasons we don't know, and are awaiting the arrival of that … that madman! Please, do tell me why I should worry!"
"You're right," Legolas nodded emotionlessly, wincing inwardly as the minute movement renewed the pain in his throat. "You should worry."
"It is so nice to hear that we agree," Aragorn said darkly. He looked around the room, trying to find anything that might offer them some clues or means to escape, and finally leaned back against the damp stone wall, tugging softly at his unyielding chains. His voice was very serious when he spoke again, and Legolas had no trouble hearing the fear in the man's words. "What is he doing here, Legolas?"
Legolas leaned his head against the wall as well and gave his friend a sad smile.
"If I knew that, mellon nín, I would have made sure that we stayed in Rivendell and never set foot into this valley."
"I thought he was dead!" Aragorn exclaimed, silver eyes dark and confused. "They told us he was dead!"
"So they did," Legolas nodded. "Most people said his employer simply dumped his body into the lake."
"A wonderful way to dispose of a body," a voice behind them agreed. "Quick, clean, and if you do it right, almost impossible to trace back to you. It would have been a good choice."
Legolas gave Aragorn a last look before he turned his head as slowly as he could, both in order to display indifference and to prevent his throat from starting to hurt once more. As he had already known, it was Gasur who had entered their cell and closed the door behind him, moving quite soundlessly for a human – something that only served to strengthen the impression of a predator sneaking up on its prey. There was another man with him, a human Legolas hadn't seen before, who was carrying a large satchel whose contents clanked slightly when he moved.
Legolas frowned inwardly. He did not need – or want – to think about what was in that bag.
"And as a madman who has used that method quite often himself, you are in a unique position to judge that, are you not?" the elf smiled friendly, something that looked rather disconcerting due to the long cut on his throat that was once again leaking blood.
"Indeed," Gasur grinned good-naturedly, gesturing for the other man to step closer and deposit the bag on a small table, the only piece of furniture in the entire room. He ignored Legolas' furious look and took a step closer to the two of them, stopping in front of Aragorn and giving him a mocking look. "Have forgotten how to speak, boy?"
"No," Aragorn slowly shook his head, his forehead furrowed in a deep, thoughtful frown. "I am confused, however. Just why is your bloated corpse not floating in the Long Lake?"
Gasur cocked his head to the side and gave the younger man an amused look.
"So you remember me as well? I am flattered, ranger. I believe we only met very briefly."
"Yes, we did," Aragorn agreed coldly. "It was long enough, however. I do not forget those who threaten my friends."
"It's your own fault if you call elves your friends," the other man retorted, that odd sparkle making a reappearance in his eyes. "It's what brought you to this point."
"No," Legolas shook his head, speaking before Aragorn could open his mouth for a reply. "It was my mistake that brought him here. I should have killed you in that tavern that evening, or should have allowed my friend to do it. It is a mistake which I will gladly correct, though."
"Will you now?" Gasur asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.
"Oh yes," Legolas nodded again, completely and utterly serious. "Does your current employer know about your past, 'Fox'? Do your men know? Do they know that you are nothing but a ruthless murderer who kills for the highest bidder? Do they know that you killed countless people in Lake-town, and that the only reason why you weren't tried and executed is that everyone thought your own employer had killed you? Do they know all that?"
"No," Gasur, who had once been known as the 'Fox', shook his head. "They do not. But, imagine this, elf: They wouldn't care if they did. I do my duty, and I do it well, and that is everything our lady is interested in. And the men…" He made a dismissive gesture. "What they think is inconsequential. They will not challenge me."
"Ruling through fear is what brought on your downfall in Lake-town," Aragorn reminded the other man. "It…"
Before he could finish the sentence, the other man's hand had shot out, grabbed him by the hair and had slammed his head against the wall.
"My methods had nothing to do with it!" the dark haired man hissed at his prisoner as soon as the younger man had pried open his eyes again. "They were not what brought on my downfall! It was you, you and your elven friends!"
He let go and whirled around, looking with wide, insanely sparkling eyes at the blond elf.
"It was you and that silver haired friend of yours! You came in, accused me of having something to do with the ranger's injuries, and smashed the entire tavern! After that, my men thought me weak and my employer incompetent! You took everything from me, everything I had worked so hard for! My own men tried to kill me to please our employer, and do you know whom I blame for that?"
"Since blaming yourself would be a sign of intelligence, I'd guess you blame me," Legolas concluded, sounding rather disinterested and annoyed.
He leaned back against the wall as nonchalantly as he could, tried to ignore the way Aragorn stared at him (namely as if he had just lost his mind) and kept looking at the 'Fox', noting with calm detachment that the man's face was beginning to assume a colour that fitted his name. His every instinct was yelling very loudly at him at the moment, telling him to be silent and hope that this lunatic didn't notice him any further, but, no matter how much he would have liked to do such a thing, he knew that he could not.
It was indeed he whom the 'Fox' blamed for his misfortunes (and he might even be right to a certain degree), which meant that this situation had just become a whole lot more dangerous. The last time they had met, it had been nothing but business in a strange, rather upsetting – not to mention painful – way, but that was over now. This was personal, a means for the man to take his revenge on him, and had comparably little to do with Aragorn, thank the Valar. If he kept the man's attention focused on him, he just might forget about the ranger and leave him alone.
Then again, Legolas added inwardly, looking at the very red, very angry face of the man in front of him, he rather doubted it, especially considering their luck which was almost infamous by now. Just when had anybody around them ever done what they had expected them to? Certainly not in the last year or so.
His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a hand that shot out and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer until his face was inches away from the crimson face of the 'Fox'. He was, in fact, close enough so that he could see small veins in the man's eyes burst like some of Mithrandir's fireworks (he hadn't really thought that the man was this angry!), and came to the quick, rather uncomfortable realisation that things had just gone from bad to worse.
"You're a quick one," the 'Fox' growled at him, obviously rather close to losing what was left of his self-restraint. He twisted his fingers in the elf's long hair and watched with exceptional satisfaction how pain flashed over his prisoner's pale face. "Yes, I do blame you. And do you know what I intend to do about it?"
"I can guess," Legolas said flatly, working hard to keep his increasing worry off his face. There was a calculating sparkle in the captain's eyes, a sparkle that boded ill for them and had definitely not been there the last time he had seen him. It seemed he had learnt a thing or two in the past few months, and that more than anything else scared him deeply.
"Yes, I am sure about that," the 'Fox' grinned, letting go of the elf's hair and gesturing his lieutenant to come closer which he did, an identical, malicious grin on his face. Not for the first time Legolas asked himself if that man was simply a bad copy of his superior and nothing more. "But I have a more interesting idea. Do you want to hear it?"
"Not really."
"Do you remember what you told me before you allowed that silver haired elf to treat me like a rag doll?" the man went on, completely ignoring the fair haired elf's words.
Legolas smiled condescendingly, trying not to look at Aragorn's face whose expression had lost the pity the ranger had obviously felt for his recently deranged friend and had now assumed an expression of anger. The elf shrugged. He had known that Aragorn would realise what he was doing, but as long as the 'Fox' or Gasur or whatever his name may be did not, he didn't even care.
"Would that be before or after he wiped the floor with you?"
"Somewhere in between," the dark haired man smiled, apparently refusing to be baited.
This wasn't good, Legolas decided, his fear beginning to spiral out of control. The urge to hurt him was plainly visible on the captain's face, and yet he didn't. No, this was not good. A moment later Legolas realised what he had just thought, and grinned inwardly. Just when had he started complaining about the fact that people didn't want to hurt him?
"Let me enlighten you, elf," the man went on, the smile still firmly attached to his face. Legolas wondered just why every other human he met insisted on emphasising his race's name as if it was a curse or an insult. "You accused me of having hurt your ranger friend here. And then you said 'I really don't like it when that happens to my friends'." He turned back to Aragorn who seemed to be torn between glaring at him and his elven friend and gave the younger man a bright, malicious smile. "Too bad, isn't it?"
"Your quarrel is with me, 'Fox' or whatever your name is," Legolas spoke up, desperate to divert the captain's attention . "Not with him. He was not even there."
"No, he was not," the 'Fox' agreed quietly. "But in the days before, he killed some of my men, don't forget that."
"I'm sure your heart bled for them," Aragorn inserted scathingly, ignoring Legolas' furious look. He knew what the elf was doing, and he did not like it one bit.
"No," the other man shook his head. "But that doesn't matter. You two have ruined my plans and my life's work, and now you will pay for it."
"Let him go," Legolas pleaded softly, trying to calm himself while he watched how the other man positioned himself next to his friend. "He has nothing to do with it."
"Oh, but he has," the 'Fox' disagreed, only half listening to the elf's words while he stepped closer to the dark haired ranger who was regarding them with a mixture of loathing and annoyance in his eyes. "He is your friend. That is enough." He turned back to Legolas, shooting him a grin so full of malicious anticipation that Legolas felt a shiver run over his back. "Besides, do you really think that I care about such trivial matters?"
He didn't give the elven prince a chance to reply and returned his attention to the bound man in front of him, his eyes slowly travelling over his body until they came to rest on his right hand that was chained to the wall at about the height of his shoulder.
"I know that I am not an expert, but I'd say that looks broken, bound as thickly as it is. What did you do, boy, pinched it in a door?"
Aragorn didn't answer and merely gave him a cold stare, his mind furiously working on a way out of this situation. There was none, however, and he had realised just that when the dark haired captain nodded at the soldier who had taken up position next to him.
"Hold him."
Legolas' mind seemed to freeze as he realised what the man was intending to do. He dimly heard himself plead with the 'Fox' to stop, but the captain was not listening, his fingers beginning to close around Aragorn's wrist. The young ranger did his best not to show the pain that flared to life inside his wrist as soon as the other man touched it and tried to escape the other soldier's grasp, but he couldn't prevent himself from growing paler and paler with every single inch that the 'Fox' bent the limb upwards, into the direction of the ceiling.
The knitting bones protested sharply against an action such as bending into any direction, and cold sweat appeared on the young ranger's forehead. The 'Fox' stopped for a moment, looking into the younger man's face and intensely studying the silver eyes that had assumed the dark grey colour of a cloudy sky in the evening. He increased the pressure a little bit, watching with relish how the pain in the ranger's eyes intensified, and slowly turned to the elf who had fallen silent now, only staring at him with wide, hateful eyes.
The 'Fox' gave the fair haired elf a smug, cruel smile before he turned back to his other prisoner again, his fingers closing around Aragorn's wrist in a vicelike manner. A second later the hand was wrenched upwards, and with a thoroughly unattractive, crunching noise the bones of the wrist gave way under the pressure.
Aragorn couldn't bite back a cry of pain at having an already broken wrist broken again, something that only caused the other man's smile to widen even more. He kept pushing the wrist upwards until the shackles stopped any further movement, and with a last, wrenching motion that elicited another cry of pain from the ranger he finally let go of his wrist and stepped backwards.
"So, elf," he stated lazily, turning around to Legolas who completely ignored him, all his attention fixed on his wounded friend. "He's hurt. What are you going to do now?"
The fair haired elf did not seem to hear what he was saying, his eyes fixed on the pale face of the ranger, and the man sighed loudly.
"You're consciously trying to make this as little fun as possible, aren't you?"
Legolas looked at him just long enough to give him a look of such fury and contempt that even the 'Fox' was rendered speechless for a few moments before he looked back at his friend, his eyes as cold and hard as stone. The captain nodded at his lieutenant to release the prisoner, and a second later Aragorn slumped in the chains, his eyes tightly closed and his face so pale that Legolas would almost have been able to swear that he could see the blood moving under the translucent skin.
After a few moments of silently urging his friend to open his eyes Legolas finally returned his gaze to the 'Fox', who was standing a little to the right in front of the small table, his brow furrowed in what he probably believed to be a pensive manner.
"You know," the man began thoughtfully, "there's something missing here. I just don't know what exactly."
Legolas suppressed the perfect answer of 'Your sanity?', knowing that it would most likely only cause the man to hurt Aragorn even more. He might be close to choking on the hatred and anger that was seething inside of him, but he would be damned if he caused his friend any more pain because he'd felt like insulting this madman.
"He's still standing up too straight," the 'Fox' finally said determinedly, as if he had just come to a most important realisation. "No man should be that tall and elf-like; not even a ranger like him. It's not natural, you know?" Legolas merely stared at him with wide, unbelieving eyes, and he added, "But never fear, elf. I have the perfect remedy for that."
The 'Fox' stepped closer to his human prisoner, one of his fingers thoughtfully tapping against his lower lip. If Aragorn noticed his presence, he did not show it; all of his attention was focused on the burning pain that seemed to envelop his entire right forearm, from fingertips to elbow.
"Well, we could start with the legs," the captain told the younger man confidentially, as if he was proposing a business deal of some sort. "But I don't really like it; it's always so tedious to drag people everywhere. The guards start to complain, eventually." He frowned and shook his head. "No, that would be far too inconvenient. So, what to do?"
Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and blinked slowly, obviously needing some moments until he could focus on the other man's face.
"Leaving us alone is … not an option, I assume?"
"No," the 'Fox' shook his head, almost friendly. "It isn't." He paused for a moment, the mock frown on his face deepening, before he smiled again and nodded at the younger man in front of him. "I have it! You are standing far too upright, but now I know how to remedy that."
He nodded at his silent lieutenant who stepped closer again, an identical, anticipatory smile on his face. He seemed to know what was expected of him, for the dark haired captain didn't give him any orders and merely kept smiling at the young man in front of him.
"Just how tall and lordly, pray tell, do you think you'll look if one of your shoulders were to … well, displace itself, so to speak? Or the other as well, perhaps? It might make it a little hard to stand, don't you think?"
Aragorn felt how his blood ran cold, knowing very well how much a dislocated limb could hurt. For a moment, he thought that the 'Fox' might only be testing him, that this was nothing but a particularly tasteless joke, but then he looked into the captain's light brown, utterly soulless eyes and decided that he most likely didn't even know what a joke was. He didn't even have enough time to properly grow afraid of what was awaiting him when he felt how the dark haired captain's silent helper grasped his left shoulder and pinned him to the wall, effectively restraining his movements and trapping him where he stood.
The 'Fox' grasped his other arm, a smug smile on his face that only served to increase the sick feeling that had awoken inside of him.
"This might hurt a little, ranger."
"No!" Legolas' voice stopped the man in his tracks. "Please, I beg you! Don't do this! You want me, not him! It was my decision to come to Lake-town, it was my responsibility!"
"It's too later for that now, elf," the captain answered before turning back to the pale, grim-faced ranger. "You should have thought about that five months ago."
Legolas would gladly have given one of his arms if that had been the price for being given the opportunity to kill this smug, pathetic excuse for a human being. He could only watch helplessly as the 'Fox' grasped his human friend's arm more tightly and, with an easy, practiced movement that suggested that he had done this sort of thing many times in the past, wrenched it to the side and up. The shoulder rotated to the side, more and more until the joint popped out of its socket with an indescribable, hair-raising noise.
It took almost all of the elven prince's strength, but he didn't look away. His eyes remained fixed on Aragorn's face and the agony he could see there, no matter how much he would have liked to close his eyes. He didn't look away when the pain became too much to bear for the young ranger and he cried out, he didn't look away while the 'Fox' cruelly pushed the limb further up until he finally stopped, apparently fearing that his prisoner might pass out otherwise.
What little hope there was in Legolas' chest disintegrated when the 'Fox' let go of his prisoner's right arm and slowly and languidly took a few steps to the side, changing positions with his lieutenant and taking hold of Aragorn's left arm. The young ranger's eyes were closed tightly, his chest heaving while he fought to get enough air, but he didn't move or tried to pull away, either too weak or in too much pain to do anything.
There was nothing he could do, Legolas realised with something very close to desperation. He would do everything to spare his friend this pain, he would even beg the 'Fox', again and as often as he could, but the cold, heartless truth was that that would avail nothing. It would only please the dark haired captain more, but it would most certainly not stop him. All he could do was watch, and that more than anything else made him want to tear the man's heart out of his chest with his bare hands.
The 'Fox' was quite clearly oblivious to his captive's thoughts, and even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have cared overly much. A huge, cruel smile was on his face while he closed his fingers around the ranger's elbow, waiting for the younger man to open his eyes once more. He didn't have to wait long until the silver eyes opened slowly, mild confusion mixing with the pain that was easily visible there.
The captain's smile widened as he saw comprehension in the darkened grey orbs, followed quickly by fear and renewed pain when he jerked the ranger's arm up and to the side, in an angle he knew to be effective and at the same time very painful. He watched his prisoner's face, enjoying every small sign of pain and every cry of pain. Half a second later the ranger's body went limp as his consciousness finally decided it was better off elsewhere, and with a small, disappointed sigh he let the dislocated limb fall back against the stone wall, hardly giving the slumped figure another look as he turned back to the fair haired elf.
"He's not standing up so straight anymore now, is he?"
Legolas slowly took his eyes off his friend's motionless figure, thanking all the Valar that Aragorn had finally lost consciousness and didn't have to bear the pain of hanging from two dislocated shoulders, and gave the 'Fox' a look so dark and hateful that even Sauron would have been highly impressed.
"You do realise that I will have to kill you for this, don't you?"
"Of course you will," the 'Fox' smiled indulgently, as if humouring a child or an imbecile. "Now, I am sorry for neglecting you all this time. Where were we?"
Legolas contemplated saying something, but decided against it a moment later. The man would most likely not even understand what he was talking about, stupid as he was. That thought led him to imagining what the captain's face would look like when he strangled him, and he was still picturing that particular sight when the 'Fox' stepped up to him, once again wearing that annoying, overbearing smile that awoke in Legolas the urge to kill him right here and now.
"I always find it a bit draughty in here," the man told him. "I know, I know, that is what the brazier is for, but still. I have a method to warm you up, however. I wanted to try it out on our other elven guest, but, ah well, I'm sure he'll understand." He grinned at the look of surprise the fair haired elf couldn't hide. "You didn't know that, did you? I've had the pleasure of … 'speaking' with him a few times over the last two weeks."
Legolas' thoughts were spinning as fast as the wheels on a cart, and he tried to bring them into some sort of order. What was this man talking about? Was it possible that one of Lord Elrond's delegates had somehow survived? He knew better than to ask any of the humans – and most certainly not the 'Fox' or his silent helper! – but he couldn't stop himself from following that particular train of thought.
As it turned out, however, the 'Fox' knew yet another remedy for that problem. Legolas forced himself not to stiffen as the man slowly drew his knife, but could not suppress the shudder of fear and dread that raced over his back when the dark haired captain used the blade to slice through the fabric of his shirt until there were only shreds left. There must be something magical about his shirts and tunics, Legolas mused, trying very hard to ignore his surroundings. Every other person insisted on cutting them to pieces or ripping them to shreds. He was seriously beginning to think that they wanted to tell him something.
His idle musings were interrupted when the soldier standing behind the 'Fox' turned around, stepping up to his captain. Legolas was about to glare at him when his eyes came to rest on the object in the man's hands, and he felt how his blood froze. It was not necessarily an unusual object, mind you, even though it could look slightly disturbing. Especially when it was red-hot. Especially it was being handed to a madman who had officially proclaimed his intention to kill you.
Legolas would nearly have closed his eyes. And here he had thought this couldn't get any worse.
"You need a fire for that," he advised the man calmly. "You'll look a little strange walking around with a poker. Not that it would change your public image much, but…"
The 'Fox' didn't say anything and merely smiled at him, and a second later the hot metal touched his skin. For a brief moment, Legolas didn't feel anything but calm detachment, but after a second the pain had travelled from his chest to his brain and had flooded his mind. He had just enough time to be amazed at how much such a simple thing hurt before the pain was all there was, and he was so caught up in it that he didn't even notice that the man removed the metal poker after a few more moments.
The dark haired captain took a step backwards, his eyes wandering from the hook in his hands to the angry red burn on the elf's chest.
"Now that's better, isn't it?"
Legolas took several deep breaths, trying to get the pain under control. He raised his head, his gaze coming to rest on Aragorn's unconscious figure before he slowly looked at the man standing in front of him.
"You are … talking far too much."
He didn't even have the time to blink before the man closed the distance between them and pressed the poker against his side. This time, Legolas was sure he could actually hear how his flesh made contact with the hot metal, but a split second later all thoughts were driven from his mind under the wave of hot, burning pain that swept through his mind. It actually hurt worse now, something he would have thought impossible mere moments ago. It seemed like an eternity until the agony in his side subsided a little as the 'Fox' pulled back, but with every breath he took it somehow seemed to increase until it had almost reached the former level.
The man carefully handed the poker to his lieutenant who promptly pushed it back into the glowing coals of the brazier before he turned back to the elf whose face was now at least as pale as the ranger's.
"So do you, elf. You still haven't learnt to keep your mouth shut. That was your problem the last time as well, if I recall correctly."
Legolas felt the anger seethe inside of him, so strongly that he was able to push the pain in his body aside, at least for a moment.
"The last time, human, the problem was that you attacked my friends and me. What happened was your fault and no one else's. If you had simply left us alone, nothing would have happened at all. Besides," Legolas arched an eyebrow, "you're a thief and a murderer; you deserved it. More than that, you are coward. You told us everything we wanted to know, and we didn't even have to do anything."
"By all means, keep talking," the 'Fox' told him friendly.
Legolas snorted softly.
"You and I both know that what I say doesn't make any difference at all."
The man shrugged and nodded at his lieutenant, carefully taken the poker from him.
"You're right. It doesn't."
Legolas gave him an exasperated look, but then his world turned blinding white as the hot metal was pressed to his chest once more. This time the man didn't stop, and soon the elven prince lost all concept of time. His whole body was on fire, and he honestly couldn't say which parts were actually covered with burns and which weren't. There was an odd roaring sound in his ears that he couldn't identify, and just when he was about to lose consciousness he realised that it sounded suspiciously like screams.
Just before he could lose himself in the peaceful darkness, the 'Fox' stepped back and drew back the poker. For a moment, Legolas was rather sure that he would lose consciousness after all, but in the end he found himself regaining some measure of control over his body – or rather what was left of it. Several important bits and parts seemed to be missing, and those which he actually could feel hurt far too much to be of any use at all.
"These things cool down so quickly," the dark haired man commented casually. "Annoying, don't you think?"
The fair haired elf didn't answer and merely stared at him, the angry red wounds on his chest and upper arms in sharp contrast with the whiteness of his skin. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were wide and dark and full of pain and anger. After a few moments, the 'Fox' averted his eyes, doing his best to mask his reaction by nodding at the silent soldier standing half a step behind him. The man took up the re-heated poker, ready to hand it back to his captain, but the dark haired man had turned back to his prisoner, that smug smile once more on his face.
"Ready for the next round, elf?"
Legolas didn't answer for long moment, but then he cocked his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he had just realised something very important.
"You're insane," he told the man softly.
The 'Fox' leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart, his face completely serious as he nodded, his voice little more than a whisper.
"I know."
He had lost track of time. He seriously couldn't remember if he had scratched a furrow into the wall today. He thought he had, but he really wasn't sure anymore. He didn't even know if he had scratched a mark into the wall yesterday, but then again, he had had quite a lot on his mind.
Erestor leaned his head against the wall, suppressing irrational laughter which a part of him commented with an incredulously raised eyebrow. "Quite a lot on his mind" was actually a rather interesting way of calling his "conversations" with that man or whatever he was. He began to grin slowly, unable to suppress the unreasonable mirth. Gasur might look like a man, but he most certainly had a lot of character traits that were frequently to be found in orcs or other creatures of the Dark One. He might be an orc in disguise or something like that.
The bubbling, panicky laughter inside of him faded slowly, leaving only pain and fear and weariness. He was beginning to sound like Glorfindel or one of Elrond's sons, which was not even annoying him anymore. Somewhere between losing his sense of time and beginning to go insane he had stop caring about things like that, which would have scared him only a few days ago. Now he was simply tired, more tired than he could remember being in a long time.
He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the stars. He knew that it couldn't have been longer than maybe three weeks at the most (even though he suspected that it had actually been less), but it felt like an eternity. He couldn't remember what it felt like to feel a cool breeze on his face, or to talk to another sensible being, or to simply sleep peacefully. He was beginning to crack, and he knew that there was nothing he could do against it, nothing at all.
Erestor felt how he began to shiver once more as his hurting body tried to create some warmth, but he hardly felt any discomfort at all. It had been a few days now since he had spoken to Acalith, two or three maybe, and therefore two or three days since Gasur had been given almost free reign. Oh, the man had been careful not to harm him too seriously, probably under orders of his lady, but he had been rather … creative, so to speak.
The dark haired elf felt how he began to grin once more, and could muster neither the energy nor the will to try and fight it. He had never known that someone could wield a hammer quite so precisely, and, to be honest, he hadn't wanted to either. A couple of ribs had now joined his hand bones, and he suspected that Gasur wouldn't stop there..
Erestor's already trembling limbs were beginning to shiver more violently. He was afraid of the dark haired captain, no matter how much he had tried to fight that feeling. Outwardly, he still showed Gasur nothing but contempt and hatred, but inwardly he was beginning to accept that he was frightened. He was not an easy person to scare, at least that was what he had always liked to believe, but he was afraid of Gasur, or rather of what Gasur would come up with next. The man didn't possess mercy, or compassion, or anything resembling a soul, and every time he looked into his light brow eyes and saw nothing he felt how a shiver ran through him, a shiver that was growing stronger every day.
He was about to crack, Erestor realised with calm detachment that was still nothing but a pale shadow of his former state of mind. One more "session" with that smug, sick excuse for a man, and he would tell him everything he wanted to hear. It wasn't so much the pain, it was the darkness and the lack of air and freedom. He simply couldn't stand it anymore, and maybe, just maybe, they would kill him if he told them something that would convince them he had told them what they wanted.
The truly ironic thing was that he couldn't simply choose death himself, as was a gift of the One to his people. He had caught himself trying, yesterday or maybe the day before that, but there was a tiny part of him still clinging to the hope that someone would come for him, that, somehow, Glorfindel and Elrond would find out what was going on. No matter how much time passed and what Gasur did to him, he simply couldn't give up that hope, and he was almost beginning to hate his friends for it.
His mind told him that it was a vain hope, that no one would be coming for him and that Glorfindel or Elrond didn't even know what had happened, but his heart begged to differ. He hadn't realised before that he had such deep, unwavering faith in his friends, or rather in the golden haired elf, but apparently he had. Then again, he told himself wryly, Glorfindel had killed a balrog and got away with it. Getting him out of this cell should be child's play in comparison to that, shouldn't it?
The dark haired elf was torn out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps, footsteps he had heard far too many times in the past, and he slowly raised his head, darkened grey eyes fastening on the closed door. It was too soon, a voice in his head screeched, it was far too soon! He might have lost his sense of time, but he was rather sure that he had not been back much longer than a few hours. They couldn't already be coming back for him, could they?
Erestor used the last bit of his self-control to stop shivering, but when he tried to push back the fear and confusion that filled his heart, he had to admit defeat. He simply didn't possess the strength anymore, something he would never have thought possible. Controlling his emotions was something that had become second nature to him, and not being able to do it anymore was maybe the thing that frightened him most.
No matter what they did, he would tell them nothing that would put Rivendell at risk, he vowed to himself, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the door in front of him. He would make them kill him before he did that. He owed Elrond so much, more than he could ever repay him, and he would never endanger him or his family. Never.
Far sooner than he felt ready in even the remotest sense of the word the door opened, and Erestor felt how trepidation and fear turned into surprise. All he could do was stare as the man whom he identified as Fosul, Gasur's usually so silent lieutenant, stepped to the side with a wide grin on his face, to allow four men to move into the cell.
"We brought you some company, elf."
Erestor dimly noticed that the man was sounding exactly like his superior, but the larger part of him was busy staring at the two still bodies which the men dragged into the room and unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Without another word the men turned and left the cell, apparently more than glad to escape his company. The lieutenant remained where he was for a moment, giving the three beings an emotionless look, before he shrugged and turned around. A moment later the door closed with a thud Erestor didn't even hear, so focused was he on deciding whether or not he had finally lost his mind.
After a few seconds of complete inactivity he finally began to move, deciding that, even if all this was an illusion, it would be impolite to let it lie around in a heap. He slowly began to drag the two figures closer, constantly cursing his chains and noticing at the same time that their hands were bound behind their backs with similar, heavy manacles. After long, painful moments he had finally managed to pull them closer, and now that he could look at them more closely, he decided in a split second that he was either indeed insane or that the Valar had a rather disturbing sense of humour.
Still half-believing that this was nothing but an exceptionally vivid delusion, he began to examine his two new cellmates, and with every second that passed he felt how the remaining doubts began to fade. O dear Elbereth, he thought to himself while he used his uninjured hand to carefully touch what looked like a badly dislocated shoulder, Elrond would kill him. And so would Lord Thranduil, now that he thought about it.
After several minutes, he was rather sure that he was in fact not dreaming or hallucinating. These two were Aragorn and Prince Legolas, even though his mind could come up with absolutely no explanation for this. They were in a rather bad shape, too, something that didn't surprise him all that much, either. They would be, wouldn't they?
Deciding that it would take too much energy to try and figure out what they were doing here and what exactly had happened, he used all his strength to try and make it a little more comfortable for them, even though he knew perfectly well that they would most likely be in a lot of pain once they woke up. Besides, he had nothing he could use, no water or blankets or bandages, but he would be damned if he would allow such trivial matters to stop him.
He winced openly when he saw that not only one, but both of the young ranger's shoulder seemed to be dislocated, and his right wrist looked swollen and thoroughly unhealthy. Prince Legolas' upper body was covered with what looked suspiciously like angry red burns – a lot of them – and there was a long, blood-encrusted cut on his throat that already showed the first signs of infection.
Erestor's eyes narrowed, some of his pain and fear turning into seething anger all of the sudden. He didn't need to guess who was responsible for the two young ones' wounds, and if Gasur had been here right now, he might actually have tried something stupid and foolhardy. He shrugged inwardly a moment later when an inner voice told him that this would be extremely foolish. It wasn't as if Glorfindel had a monopoly on doing foolish things.
When he was certain that there was absolutely nothing more he could do for either of them, he leaned back against the wall once more, his eyes slowly wandering from the unconscious figure of the ranger to his fair haired friend.
No, this was not an illusion. Illusions usually didn't look this bloody.
As far as reassurances went, this one wasn't exactly one of the best, but it was enough for him.
TBC...
mellon nín - my friend
Oh, I blame all of this on Jack. Or my alter ego, take your pick. •g• I didn't enjoy writing this; really, I did not. I couldn't even look at it, which, considering that I had to write it, was rather inconvenient. •sheepish smile• Okay, I'm off now, I have to turn into a quivering mass on the floor. Stay tuned for the next bit, in which someone FINALLY realises that Erestor is not dead and Elrohir is not a happy elf. Neither is Legolas or anybody else, though, with the possible exception of Gasur/the 'Fox'. •g• Reviews are always appreciated, loved and cherished, so: Review? Please?
Additional A/N:
Once again, I'm very sorry for not replying to your lovely reviews. Every single one manages to brighten my day, and I really only do this because I have absolutely no time at the moment. •smiles as charmingly as possible• I hope you're not too cross!