AN: More violence and another character death in this chapter...it's a bit grizzly, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Price of Treason
Legolas slowly regained consciousness, blinking in the darkness. He couldn't see, and tried to rub his eyes only to discover that he couldn't move either.
He panicked, trying to roll over to free his arms. But it was no use...they were bound behind him at the wrist, the position pulling on his injured shoulder. His feet were also tied together.He thrashed out, mind blank with the thought that he was suffocating, and struck the wall. He was locked in some tight space...it was dark...too dark...
"No," he whispered, forcing himself to be still. He closed his eyes, though that did not shut out the darkness, and focused on taking a few deep breaths. Then, eyes still closed, Legolas slowly stretched out his feet until they touched a wall and pushed himself up to a sitting position.
He could not see where he was, but he could guess. It was fairly small, nearly as wide as he was tall and about four feet deep. It was also dark, and smelled faintly of aged wood.
Legolas wriggled back to sit against the side of his prison. It must be the wardrobe in the empty room where Amarthwen had taken him. He swallowed. No one knew where he was...chances were it could be days before anyone would find him. A tiny part of his mind wondered if they would search the dungeons first, only to learn he had been stuffed away merely doors from his room.
One of the doors to the wardrobe suddenly swung open, the light of a candle painfully bright. "So you are awake," a voice called.
Legolas blinked in the light, his eyes slowly adjusting. "Amarthwen," he said, coughing a bit to clear his throat.
"Search parties comb the palace...yet there's no sign of the dear little prince," she said, kneeling next to the wardrobe. She was playing with her dagger again, letting it gleam in the faint light of the candle.
"Let me go."
Amarthwen's eyes darkened. "Still the same selfish brat you always were," she sneered. "No thought for what anyone else wants."
If he had been in a different position, Legolas might have laughed. Amarthwen wanted to kill him, and she was trying to scold him for ignoring her wants. "Let me go," he tried again. "You do not want to do this."
The she-elf grabbed his chin, jerking his face toward hers. "No, I want to see you die slowly," she replied in a hiss. "Now, not a sound." She lifted the knife and slowly drew it across the freshly-healed skin of his cheek, copying the wounds she had left two nights before. "Third time," she crowed, adding a third cut. Amarthwen shoved Legolas back against the wall of the wardrobe.
"You don't have to do this," Legolas said, his voice weak from pain. She had cut deeper this time.
Amarthwen's eyes narrowed, and she backhanded him. Shaking the blood off her hand she stood, glaring down. "I will return," she sneered. "And when I do, it will be for the last time."
Without another word, she slammed the doors to the wardrobe closed again, and Legolas faintly heard a key turn in the lock. A few moments later the door to the room closed as Amarthwen disappeared into the hall. He let out a shaky sigh, resting the uninjured side of his face against the wood. He did not know how long Amarthwen would be gone, but he had to escape.
The wooden doors groaned when he leaned against them, trying to shift his body around to a more comfortable position. He froze...the wardrobe was old...older than any of the other furniture he'd seen in the palace.
An idea began to form in his mind. It would be risky, but it was his only chance.
Legolas wiggled around and pressed his back against the back of the wardrobe, gritting his teeth at the pain that twisted through his shoulder. He slowly brought his feet up, placing them against the door and shifting around to get the best angle possible.
Gritting his teeth again, he kicked against the door with his feet. The wood groaned but did not crack.
With a sigh of frustration, Legolas shifted over to the side. Curling up as much as he could, he kicked out again, this time in the joint between one of the doors and the side of the wardrobe. The wood was thick and sturdy, but he hoped the hinges were less so. His efforts were rewarded with a crack a moment later as one corner of the door began to break, the ancient hinge giving way under his attack.
The crack let in the light of the candle Amarthwen had left behind, and Legolas sought out the weak point in the faint light. He could see cracks spider-webbing out from where the hinge had been attached, and aimed for the second hinge.
After a few more kicks the hinges caved away, the door sagging open slightly. Triumphantly, Legolas pushed at the door with his feet, forcing it open as far as he could. The top hinge and the lock held, but he now had an opening he could squeeze through
Twisting around, Legolas put his back against the broken door and pushed off the back wall of the wardrobe with his feet. He levered himself out of the wardrobe, wincing as the jagged wood tore through his clothes and skin.
Pulling his legs free, Legolas lay curled up on the floor for a moment, panting for breath. The pain in his shoulder was agonizing, but well worth it for his freedom.
Still curled up, Legolas steeled himself and slowly began inching his bound hands down toward his legs. His shoulder throbbed, but he made himself keep working. He forced his hands under his legs, stopping as a wave of pain-induced dizziness swept through his head. He had been able to do this as an elfling, but it was a lot harder now.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour of pain and stretching and wiggling, he eased his arms in front of him, surveying the knots that bound his wrists with a hint of satisfaction. He could barely even move his right arm and now he saw that he could notfree his hands, the knots were too complicated. But...
Legolas stretched his legs out, studying the ropes that bound his ankles together. He smiled. For the first time that night, his luck seemed to be with him.
The rope was only looped around his ankles, tied in a tight, yet simple knot in the center. Enough to keep him from wiggling loose on his own, but not enough to completely trap him. With a bit more bending and stretching, he was able to fumble with the ropes around his ankles. He nearly worried his lip bloody as he did so, breathing a sigh of relief when the rope gave way.
Shaking the rope free, Legolas slowly pushed himself up to his knees, pausing to rest his hands against the floor. The pain in his shoulder was nearly overwhelming by now, and it took great effort to move it, but that was quickly becoming the least of his worries. With a surge of strength, he pushed himself up to his feet, staggering against the wall as he nearly lost his balance. He shook out one leg, wincing as pins and needles danced up and down it.
Hands still bound before him, he slowly walked to the door, awkwardly grasping the handle and trying to turn it. It wouldn't move.
Legolas nearly groaned in defeat, resting his head against the door. It was locked.
"I have come too far to give up now," he muttered, leaning back against the wall beside the door. Amarthwen would return eventually, and when she did she'd be expecting Legolas to still be in the wardrobe. She wouldn't expect him to be waiting just inside the door.
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"He's not in the dungeons!" Meluial exclaimed, shifting herquiver higher onto her shoulder.
Brithdil shook his head. "I don't understand it...where could she have taken him?"
"We should track Thilator," Ceretín offered. He was not yet a warrior, but was anxious to hunt for his friend. "He killed Meledur...he should know where Amarthwen is."
"That would take too long," Elladan argued.
"But he killed Meledur!" Ceretín countered. "Should not he be brought to justice?"
"He will be," Brithdil interjected, stepping between the two elves. "We should begin searching the royal quarters."
"That is the last place she would have taken him," Belegdur retorted. He had a floorplan of the palace out and was attempting to organize the search effort.
"As were the dungeons last time," Meluial offered quietly. "He could be up there, in the last place we'd look."
Belegdur shook his head. "Did anyone see anything?" he demanded. Brithdil had run into the prince and the twins with news that Amarthwen had taken Legolas nearly an hour ago. Most of the upper wings of the palace were deserted, the elves had been concentrating on either fighting the fire in the forest or cleaning out the wine cellars before the spilled wine seeped into the floor and attracted vermin, including spiders.
"I saw no one else in the hall," Brithdil replied.
"We need to begin with the wing he was taken from," Meluial said, supporting Brithdil's decision. "If only to count it out."
Belegdur sighed. His father had placed him in charge of the search effort. "Very well...Brithdil, take my sister and the twins and comb these two halls, they join the hall with the family rooms at opposite ends. Check every room. Ceretín, you and your father begin with the next hall down." Other elves had already begun searching the lower halls, though some had already returned with negative reports.
"We'll find him," Brithdil said, double-checking his weapons.
"I hope you do," Belegdur said softly as the elves left. He would have given anything to search with them, but he could not, not when his father ordered him to stay there. "You found him last time."
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Time seemed to pass out of meaning as Legolas waiting. His shoulder ached for attention, splinters left in his body from the brokendoor stung when he inadvertently leaned against one. The cuts on his face had stopped bleeding, leaving a long patch of dried blood in their wake. He knew he must look a fright...face covered in dried blood, hands bound, tears and splinters in his clothing.
He shook his head to focus. He had no way of knowing the time, but the candle had melted down to nearly a stub. Another third of an hour and it would burn out completely. By his estimation he had probably been waiting for close to half of an hour, much longer than he'd anticipated.
He straightened up, faintly catching stealthy footsteps coming up the hall. He had no way of knowing if this was Amarthwen or another elf, but dared not risk calling out. If it turned out to be a servant he would be free, but if it was Amarthwen he would lose the only advantage he had.
A key turned in the lock, and he heard a quiet click.
Legolas steeled himself. He had only a moment to act.
The door slowly swung open, and Legolas saw the long-fingered, white hand of the she-elf, still clutching a dagger. Dried blood clung to the blade, and he shivered with the realization that it was his.
Amarthwen was distracted, looking down the hall as though she heard something. Legolas tensed as the elf-maid entered the room, stopping still when she saw the damage done to the wardrobe door.
With every ounce of strength that he could rally, he swung his hands at the back of her head. He misjudged, striking her in the shoulders but sending her stumbling nonetheless. Legolas ran, nearly tripping over the she-elf's legs in his hurry to leave the room.
She roared wordlessly, and he could hear her scrambling to her feet to come after him. He had no doubt that she could move faster than he could at the moment, and she was armed. All he could think of was getting as far as possible before she caught up to him, maybe far enough to catch someone's attention.
"You little orc," Amarthwen shouted, leaping forward and tackling him around the waist. He felt a blow to the side of his head—not enough to knock him unconscious, but enough to stun him momentarily.
Shaking off the daze the blow induced he rolled, throwing her off for a moment and gaining his feet again. She scrambled up as well, facing him with a deadly glare in her eyes and the knife still in her hand.
Amarthwen lunged at him, and Legolas caught the arm that held the knife. She fought him, clawing wildly at his face with her free hand, but he held on.
"Legolas!"
The prince's heart quickened. He knew that voice...it was Elladan. "Elladan!" he called back.
The she-elf growled something, and in a tremendous show of force pulled her hand free, slicing partway through the ropes that bound Legolas' wrist and the palm of his right hand in the process. She tangled her fingers in his hair, yanking his head back and pulling him close, the blade of the knife pressed to his throat.
"Let him go," Elladan said in a low, threatening voice. Legolas' heart was pounding...Elladan was alone.
"Never," Amarthwen hissed. "I'll kill him first." She dragged Legolas down the hall, eyes fastened on Elladan.
Legolas was silent, knowing anything could prompt the she-elf to carry through with her threat.
"Release him," another voice spoke up. Amarthwen whirled around, nearly losing her grip on Legolas. Brithdil stood at the other end of the hall, Meluial behind him.
"No," she shouted, her voice pitched with frenzy. "This ends now!" she shrieked at Brithdil, wrapping her free arm around Legolas' chest and raising the knife.
The quiet shoof! of an arrow broke through the silence, and was followed by a harsh scream. Legolas fell to the floor, ears ringing. He stared up, eyes widening in shock. Amarthwen was clutching her arm, the shaft of an arrow straight through it.
And Elrohir had just appeared behind Elladan, drawing an arrow from his quiver to replace the one he'd just fired.
The knife lay to the side where Amarthwen had dropped it. With an inarticulate cry, she dove for it as Legolas tried to scramble away.
A second arrow flew through the air, embedding itself in Amarthwen's stomach.
"I told you this would happen when I learned the truth," a calm voice called from Brithdil's side. Princess Meluial, eyes hard and calculating, notched another arrow to her bow. "Let this be the end of you."
"Meluial," Brithdil whispered, pushing the princess's bow down. "Let us take you to the healers. It is not too late for you," he said quietly, stepping toward Amarthwen and extending one hand.
The former nurse panted. "I do not want your pity," she gasped, coughing, her hand wrapped around the arrow in her belly. Her other hand closed about the knife.
Eyes wide in shock, Legolas tried to rise to his feet but slipped. Elrohir and Meluial brought their bows back to bear on Amarthwen, but the she-elf ignored them.
"May my death haunt your souls!" Amarthwen screamed, raising the blade a final time to plunge into Legolas' chest.
Another arrow flew down the hall, burying its head deep into Amarthwen's black heart, met by a second half a moment later. Her eyes went blank, an expression of confusion on her once-fair features. The knife fell from her fingers, clattering harmlessly to the ground. She shuddered once, and fell lifeless to the floor, one arm draped across Legolas.
Legolas stared at the fair head, now tinted red with blood, in shock. He had barely a moment to comprehend what had happened before the she-elf's body was pushed away, and someone was pulling him up, arms wrapped around him and familiar voices comforted him.
"It's all right," Elrohir murmured as he and Elladan pulled Legolas away from his old nurse's body. "She's dead...it's over."
Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?
AN: Ding-dong! The witch is dead! Ah-ha-ha! (sorry...I've been waiting twenty-four chapters for this)
But the story isn't over. There's one more chapter to this part, and then it's on to Part Three!