Title: Bait - Author: Legorfilinde, Dark Forest Singer - Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R later) - Summary: The ancient vampire Thuringwethil puts the bite on Legolas. Is Aragorn safe? Can Aragorn save his friend before Legolas is turned to Shadow forever? - Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Middle Earth or any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters, ideas, stories, or histories. I am receiving no payment for this fan fiction piece.
Part Seven
He could smell death… and blood… my blood? he idly wondered. Am I dead? As more and more of his senses came alive, Legolas truly wished that he had never awakened from that dark pit of oblivion in which he had been dreamily languishing in untroubled sleep. Not dead… he groaned.
Before there had been nothing, now there was pain, agonizing pain, everywhere. His head was being bombarded with sensory jolts of torment from screaming muscles and tortured flesh. He opened his eyes, and then just as swiftly shut them tight as the world tilted and the sickening nausea returned to sweep over him again. He tried to breathe, but his chest and diaphragm ached with even the slightest inhalation he took forcing him to gasp pathetically at the stale, decayed air.
He tried opening his eyes again, slowly this time, and managed to avoid the dizzying queasiness as his sight adjusted to the dim light filtering into the room. The first thing he became fully aware of was the unrelenting ache in his arms. Both limbs were stretched above his head and secured by metal shackles that were cutting deeply into the flesh of his wrists. His entire weight was bearing down on his wrists, pulling them against the sharp metal cuffs and causing a terrible pain that seemed to be overriding all the others. He pushed upward on his sagging legs, straining jittering thigh muscles and straightening out his bent knees. That simple motion taxed much of his diminishing strength and he was treated to another round of woozy head spinning, but once accomplished, he slid his shoulders up against the rock wall behind his back and stood straight.
In doing this he discovered two things: the pain emanating from his wrists lessened as the greater portion of his body weight was removed and they were no longer being twisted against the manacles, and his upper torso was bare; he could feel the cold, clammy rock wall pressing against his back. He distractedly wondered what had become of his tunic and shirt, but under the circumstances, that didn't really seem to be his major concern.
He lifted his head and felt the accompanying throb as the blood pulsed and pounded through his brain, but eventually it tapered into a dull thudding that was at least tolerable. He tried to see through the darkness of his surroundings to determine where he might be. From what little he could distinguish, it appeared that he was in a dungeon or cell of some sort, not unlike the prisoner holdings of his father's own underground palace.
He glanced up over his head at his bound hands and could see that the metal cuffs around his wrists were suspended from a heavy chain that was embedded in the wall above him. He took a tentative tug at the chain, testing the strength of the metal, but the pain that action caused his already injured wrists was not worth a second attempt. His fingers were numb as well and he flexed them several times trying to get the blood flowing through his extremities again.
He shifted his feet below him and realized that at least his ankles were not chained or bound. Should he be able to somehow free his hands, this would be a definite plus for any escape attempt he might try to make. Escape… not much chance of that, he thought.
He fought to remember what had happened to get him into this particular situation, but his mind was muddled and he could not remember anything after leaving the campsite and heading into the forest. Suddenly images of a bloodied animal carcass, throat ripped out and blood on his hands flashed within his mind and he moaned softly at the sickening memory. A heartrending sob escaped his throat as he recalled brutally killing the rabbit with his bare hands… but he did not drink its blood... could not force his lips to take in that foul nourishment even though his body burned with the pain and hunger of that vile craving.
A terrible wrenching spasm shook his body, leaving him gasping and ill, as if to remind him that his body was still yearning for blood and a new panic seized his heart.
If I did not drink the animal's blood… then… did I harm Aragorn? I cannot remember… I CANNOT REMEMBER!
"Aragorn!" His anguished cry echoed within the darkened cell. "Aragorn," he whispered again, his voice choking as his head fell forward and a silent tear slid down his pale cheek.
Haunted by illusions of the heinous acts he might have committed, the Elf moaned as more distorted images poured into mind… running blindly through the dense forest, kneeling beside dark river waters and washing the blood off his hands… and then the orcs had come... and the black swirling mist. He slowly raised his head up and pressed it back against the rock wall, trying to remember what had happened after that, but he could not. His mind grew cloudy once more, unwilling to impart any further information or enlightenment.
Legolas shifted his position again in an effort to lessen the strain on his wrists and before he could form any further thoughts or ideas as to his whereabouts or how he had gotten here, a sudden chill permeated the dank room. He had the distinct feeling that he was no longer alone within the cell, yet he was certain that the heavy door facing him had not opened and it appeared to be securely closed. Anxiously the Elf peered out into the shadows around him seeing nothing but darkness and then she was there, standing in front of him.
"Ai!" he cried out, sucking in a shocked gasp of the damp air. He futilely tried to press himself back into the wall and away from the vile creature, but she leaned forward and placed her icy hands upon his bare chest. The burning coldness of her foul touch penetrated his skin and seared his aching lungs.
"Get away," he implored, but she only drew closer and he was forced to look at her malicious smirk. "What do you want with me?"
The demon laughed deep within her throat. "Want with you… why I don't want you at all." She slid her hands further up his chest, caressing the smooth hollows below his collarbones and then sliding her palms down again to rest at his waist. "Other than to amuse me," she whispered.
Legolas turned his face away from the were-woman, shutting his eyes to avoid looking into those terrible yellow dragon's eyes, but she grasped his chin and whipped his head back around to face her. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring straight into her evil, golden eyes. "What I want is the human… and you will bring him to me."
Legolas felt a spike of terror shoot through his heart like a knife's keen blade and before he could stop his words, he said, "Aragorn? Why?"
"Yes," she purred, "Aragorn." Moving her hands back to lie flat upon his chest, one over each pectoral, she gazed up at his stricken face. "The Dark Lord wishes him dead." She paused, as if a thought had only just now come to her, and her smile grew even crueler. "And you will kill him for me."
Legolas' eyes hardened and he snarled back at her. "Never!"
"Ah, but you will," she grinned. Her terrible, mocking laughter filled the tight space of the dungeon and Legolas' mind began to whisper taunts and jeers as he felt her presence within his head. "Imagine how he will feel when the very creature he has come to rescue betrays him." Her cold hand moved up to lightly brush the Elf's cheek, then his ear and finally slid down his neck. "Imagine how you will feel, slaying your beloved Dúnadan."
Legolas struggled in vain against the chains binding him, seeking to pull them from the wall to evade her touch, but her supernatural powers reached out and enveloped his mind, compelling him to look into her eyes. Once locked into her gaze, he no longer had the will to resist or any desire to fight her. All he could do was retreat into that core within his being and watch with detached horror as his body was manipulated and used by this evil undead thing.
Thuringwethil sneered with brutal cruelty as she traced a long, sharp thumbnail across Legolas' bare chest. A bloody trail was left in its wake as the nail sliced into the pale skin above his heart. The Elf recoiled as the cut began to bleed profusely and gush forth with every beat of his clamoring heart. Making sure that he was watching and aware of what she was doing, the were-woman lowered her lips to the wound in a depraved kiss and began to drink the fresh blood with ravenous lips.
A keening wail issued from Legolas' throat as he sank back against the wall, unable to prevent the Shadow Woman from drawing out his life's blood. A feeling akin to the rushing of the wind filled his mind and he was swept away upon the dark wings of shadow, down, down, into the void of darkness and doom. As he plummeted down into the vortex, a voice plaintively called out to him, begging him to hold on, to fight this evil, and when he fell into that last, deep chasm of utter blackness, he realized that the voice was his own.
When Thuringwethil saw that the Elf was no longer conscious, she withdrew her lips and ceased feeding. Tormenting this creature when he was not aware of what was happening to him held no pleasure for her; she thrived on the suffering she invoked in her victims, watching the despair in their eyes as it ate away at their souls, especially Elves... they were so… vulnerable.
She reached up a white hand and stroked his exquisite face, moving aside his long blond hair and exposing his pale cheek. "Later, my beautiful Elf," she whispered. "Your torment has only just begun.
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The scrawny goblin scuttled along the passageway, huge, bulbous eyes glowing in the dimness of the darkened corridor as he struggled to keep up with the swift, flowing glide of the Shadow Woman.
"Does he know the Elf has been taken?" she asked, barely glancing at the black creature scampering at her heels.
"Yes, Lady," the beast panted. "He watched the Firstborn enter the tower."
"Good," she nodded. "Where is he now?"
"He travels north."
Thuringwethil stopped so suddenly that the goblin crashed into her legs, and she kicked him brutally away. He cringed against the wall, fearfully looking up at her and waiting for her command.
"Pity," she replied, turning again and continuing down the hallway, the goblin dogging her every step. "I had so hoped he might attempt some absurdly heroic assault upon the tower. It would have been an amusing diversion…but no matter."
She halted before the massive iron doors to the Seeing Stone's chamber. The skeletal creature following her stopped as well, gazing up at her with wide, blinking eyes.
"If he is headed north," she mused, "he is going to the Grey Elves, but they are few and their woodland kin are no match for my orc army even should they agree to help him." She looked down at the scout beside her. "Keep alert, Haqdû. It will take him some time to reach the Sindarins, but I'm sure he will return."
She laughed to herself as she flung open the doors to the dark chamber holding the palantir. "All the more time to torture the Elf."