Disclaimer: The brilliance of Tolkien has absolutely nothing to do with me,
so only stuff that seems less brilliant is mine. Thanks to all kind
reviewers and please continue! For those suffering from action withdrawal,
this chapter should fill your needs.
Chapter 3
Legolas woke up as if he had been shocked. He jerked upright, then immediately winced for doing so. His battered body still had not healed. Legolas blinked his eyes a few times, the last images of his father in the palace fading slowly.
It had to have been a dream, Legolas thought to himself. He was still in the stone room, still chained firmly to the wall. The only difference was that the single lit torch had burned down and gave off even less light. That meant the passage of time had been a significant amount.
Legolas found himself thinking of the dream. It had seemed so real to him, so vivid. But of course that was impossible. And besides, what had the dream revealed? That his father wanted to betray him? That could not be the truth.
The elf prince dismissed the dream, nothing more than his pain and confusion manifesting itself in some sick way. Instead he thought about the recent encounter with his captors. They had mentioned some kind of appointment for today, and they had sounded pleased about it. That only meant one thing, that Legolas would not be pleased.
His eyes darted over to the torch again, trying to determine if a day's time had passed yet. He did not think so. Either way, there was not much time.
As far as Legolas could tell, he had two options. Break away now, or be tortured again, for that had to be the only reason they would want him. It certainly would not be to invite him for anything to eat. But how would he break free? The chains were unbelievably strong and had no trouble supporting him even if he were to drop all of his weight. A short investigation proved that the wall was not going to give at any time. Legolas had a sudden thought of the dwarves, the small and stout people that he had his people's prejudice against. Only a dwarf would hold prisoners in a stone room. Legolas quickly passed the idea over, his captors were too tall for one thing, and his elvish pride doubted that his whole hunting party would have been besieged by a group of dwarves.
A thought came to Legolas and he remembered the dagger that had sliced across his chest. The figure had dropped the dagger when he had left. It was only a sliver of hope, and by all means there was probably nothing he could do with the dagger, but it was better than nothing.
Legolas strained his neck so that he could search the ground. It was still on the ground, a few paces off to his left. Carefully, Legolas stretched out a leg towards it. He tried to ignore the protests from his body and focused only on his leg. In a few moments, the dagger was under his foot and he had it dragged closer to him. Legolas stopped to rest his injured body for a moment.
The dagger was now right next to his foot, so now what? The only way it could be of any help would be to get it into his hand, and that could very well prove to be impossible. The only thing he could think of would be to try to kick it up, but he could just as easily kick it permanently out of his reach. A small paradox.
Legolas decided to take his chances. Slowly, the elf slid his light boot underneath the hilt of the dagger. When he was convinced that he had it balanced as well as was possible; Legolas took a deep breath, and then kicked up as hard as he could. His breath exploded with the effort, the pain of the sudden movement surging throughout his entire body. For one terrifying fraction of a second, Legolas thought he would succumb to the pain and lose consciousness again and then all of his work would have been for naught. But he grittily hung on, in time to stretch his hands out as far as they could go in an attempt to catch the dagger on its way down.
He felt the dagger hit the tip of his hand, and his fingers closed instantly on it. Unfortunately, he had gotten ahold of the blade, and it deftly cut into his palm. Legolas clenched his teeth and rapidly turned the dagger so that he was holding the hilt.
A small wave of triumph passed through the elf when he finally had the dagger, by the hilt, in his hand. But then he came to his original problem, what would he do with it now? It could not possibly be strong enough to be of any use against the chains, so what good was it?
As Legolas pondered over the problem, he heard the door swing softly open again. Without even thinking, Legolas arched his back and then dropped the dagger behind his head, having it catch in his empty quiver that was still on his back. At least he had a weapon now, he could show his tormentors a thing or too.
Legolas grew still and waited to see what would happen next. He could not hear anybody coming, but he knew that he had not imagined the door opening. The elf strained his senses. He did not have long to wait. In no time, one of the cloaked figures had stepped into his line of vision, the even smaller torch giving off miniscule light. The figure came closer to Legolas, and he understood why he had not been able to hear him. The figure made absolutely no sound as it walked, surpassing even Legolas' keen hearing, and likely they would only be heard when in a group, like the first time they had come for him.
Legolas stiffened when the figure came to a halt only inches from him. "We are ready for your accompaniment," it said after a moment of silence. At the words, Legolas realized that this was the same female figure, the one that seemed to have some type of authority.
Legolas moved not an inch when a white hand suddenly came out of the cloak and struck at him with amazing speed. Time seemed to pause for a second when the hand was withdrawn and Legolas felt nothing, until his hands suddenly came free. Astonished, the elf held his hands in front of them. They had been removed from the wall, but were still bound together.
When the surprise had faded, the elf prince could not help slumping forward until he was on his knees. The sudden withdrawal of the support the chains had been giving him was too much on him. His body would not obey him and stand on its own. In vain, Legolas strove to right himself and not appear weak, but he only slumped forward still and would have gone all the way down had he not placed his chained hands on the ground in front of him. Legolas decided to not move and tried to catch his breath.
The female was directly in front of him, not offering any help, but not inflicting more injuries either. One should be grateful for small things.
"Get up," the female suddenly commanded, "you have to prepare yourself before you can be seen, it would be disgraceful."
Legolas looked up, small dots swimming in his vision. He did not even try to stand, but focused his strength on something else. "Who are you?" he gasped out, his voice strained, the first words uttered in a few days.
"So the proud elf prince can speak," came the voice from the hood, "we were beginning to have doubts. I am afraid that none of your questions can be answered right now, not until our own have been met. But you might find out one day, have hope for that." The voice was light and unaffected by Legolas' pain, "Now kindly get up, I shall not carry you."
After several efforts, Legolas drew himself up to his knees, than to his feet. His motions were no where as graceful as they normally were, but the fact that he could move at all was good enough. The robed figure went on ahead of him, not particularly caring about how far Legolas fell behind.
When the elf reached the door of the room, and thus the exit, he hesitated. The female continued on in a brisk pace, and had seemingly forgotten about him. Legolas had to take the chance. Summoning the last of his strength, Legolas swiftly turned to a side corridor and bolted. He was in no condition to run, but the elf ignored his body and focused only on moving as quickly as possible. The chains around his hands made more noise than he liked, but that could not be helped at the moment.
There was no other sound outside of the rattling chains and Legolas' pained breath. Hope glimmered before the elf like a mirage to an exhausted traveler. Legolas tried to quicken his pace and get out of there before anybody noticed his disappearance. Heedlessly, Legolas turned a corner, and braked immediately. One of the cloaked figures stood in the middle of the hall, blocking his route. Legolas was about to make up his mind to charge when the figure spoke.
"The fault is all mine for thinking that one such as yourself could be trusted. Now I am afraid that punishment will be severe. Let this not happen again." It was the female voice; the same female Legolas had just ran from. He found himself wondering how she could have possibly gotten here before him, but all thoughts were quickly expelled from him when a leg came out of the cloak and smashed into the elf's chest. Legolas fell back, his old wounds protesting at the treatment.
However weak he was, Legolas was no longer tied up, and that had been an unfair advantage. Now he was free to move about, even if his hands were still bound together. Legolas immediately stood and went into a defensive crouch, dropping the exhaustion and pain that had overtaken him. He remembered suddenly the dagger he had dropped in his quiver, but he would wait to use it. No use in letting the female know what he had until it was too late for her.
Legolas wanted to attack, but he found himself hesitating. His foe was female after all, and the old pretences had been instilled in him, more so since he was a prince. Females were to be protected at all costs and never fought against, as they would be unable to match the male.
His hesitation cost him, however, and the female quickly proved that she was knowledgeable in the arts of fighting. Another kick caught Legolas in the jaw and his vision swam for a moment. Her next move was countered, and Legolas then concentrated on only blocking and defending himself, he would not be the one to attack.
The elf tried to simply outmaneuver the female and get around her to run, but that proved to be impossible. And the weight on his hands was enough to slow his movements and sap some strength. Legolas was aware that he was tiring, and tiring quickly. This had to end soon or his chance at freedom would be forever gone.
Legolas went for the dagger. As fast as his hands could move in their current condition, Legolas reached around to the quiver, removed the dagger, and threw it at his opponent in one, fluid motion. The dagger hit its mark, and this time it was the female who screamed. She dropped to her knees, the blade buried in her shoulder. Wasting no more time, Legolas turned and started to run once more. The counterattack came as a complete surprise.
The dagger, the very one he had thrown at the female, found its way back to Legolas. With absolute shock, Legolas went to his knees, the dagger imbedded in his back, between his shoulder blades, a highly fatal spot. Apparently the female had been down but not beaten.
"She-devil," Legolas gasped as he reached around and yanked the dagger out. He did not have a chance to do anymore as he was suddenly pulled to his feet by his blonde hair. He was spun until he faced his foe. The female had hold of him, blood flowing freely from her wounded shoulder, but her strength none the worse for it.
"Cursed elf," she hissed, "you will be taught a lesson." A blow to the middle doubled Legolas over, accompanied by a swift blow to the nose, which snapped him backwards. The chains were caught and yanked on cruelly, whipping Legolas back up once more, his arms feeling as though they had been torn free.
"Never again will you have this opportunity," the female declared before a direct blow to the face forced Legolas to lose touch with reality.
Chapter 3
Legolas woke up as if he had been shocked. He jerked upright, then immediately winced for doing so. His battered body still had not healed. Legolas blinked his eyes a few times, the last images of his father in the palace fading slowly.
It had to have been a dream, Legolas thought to himself. He was still in the stone room, still chained firmly to the wall. The only difference was that the single lit torch had burned down and gave off even less light. That meant the passage of time had been a significant amount.
Legolas found himself thinking of the dream. It had seemed so real to him, so vivid. But of course that was impossible. And besides, what had the dream revealed? That his father wanted to betray him? That could not be the truth.
The elf prince dismissed the dream, nothing more than his pain and confusion manifesting itself in some sick way. Instead he thought about the recent encounter with his captors. They had mentioned some kind of appointment for today, and they had sounded pleased about it. That only meant one thing, that Legolas would not be pleased.
His eyes darted over to the torch again, trying to determine if a day's time had passed yet. He did not think so. Either way, there was not much time.
As far as Legolas could tell, he had two options. Break away now, or be tortured again, for that had to be the only reason they would want him. It certainly would not be to invite him for anything to eat. But how would he break free? The chains were unbelievably strong and had no trouble supporting him even if he were to drop all of his weight. A short investigation proved that the wall was not going to give at any time. Legolas had a sudden thought of the dwarves, the small and stout people that he had his people's prejudice against. Only a dwarf would hold prisoners in a stone room. Legolas quickly passed the idea over, his captors were too tall for one thing, and his elvish pride doubted that his whole hunting party would have been besieged by a group of dwarves.
A thought came to Legolas and he remembered the dagger that had sliced across his chest. The figure had dropped the dagger when he had left. It was only a sliver of hope, and by all means there was probably nothing he could do with the dagger, but it was better than nothing.
Legolas strained his neck so that he could search the ground. It was still on the ground, a few paces off to his left. Carefully, Legolas stretched out a leg towards it. He tried to ignore the protests from his body and focused only on his leg. In a few moments, the dagger was under his foot and he had it dragged closer to him. Legolas stopped to rest his injured body for a moment.
The dagger was now right next to his foot, so now what? The only way it could be of any help would be to get it into his hand, and that could very well prove to be impossible. The only thing he could think of would be to try to kick it up, but he could just as easily kick it permanently out of his reach. A small paradox.
Legolas decided to take his chances. Slowly, the elf slid his light boot underneath the hilt of the dagger. When he was convinced that he had it balanced as well as was possible; Legolas took a deep breath, and then kicked up as hard as he could. His breath exploded with the effort, the pain of the sudden movement surging throughout his entire body. For one terrifying fraction of a second, Legolas thought he would succumb to the pain and lose consciousness again and then all of his work would have been for naught. But he grittily hung on, in time to stretch his hands out as far as they could go in an attempt to catch the dagger on its way down.
He felt the dagger hit the tip of his hand, and his fingers closed instantly on it. Unfortunately, he had gotten ahold of the blade, and it deftly cut into his palm. Legolas clenched his teeth and rapidly turned the dagger so that he was holding the hilt.
A small wave of triumph passed through the elf when he finally had the dagger, by the hilt, in his hand. But then he came to his original problem, what would he do with it now? It could not possibly be strong enough to be of any use against the chains, so what good was it?
As Legolas pondered over the problem, he heard the door swing softly open again. Without even thinking, Legolas arched his back and then dropped the dagger behind his head, having it catch in his empty quiver that was still on his back. At least he had a weapon now, he could show his tormentors a thing or too.
Legolas grew still and waited to see what would happen next. He could not hear anybody coming, but he knew that he had not imagined the door opening. The elf strained his senses. He did not have long to wait. In no time, one of the cloaked figures had stepped into his line of vision, the even smaller torch giving off miniscule light. The figure came closer to Legolas, and he understood why he had not been able to hear him. The figure made absolutely no sound as it walked, surpassing even Legolas' keen hearing, and likely they would only be heard when in a group, like the first time they had come for him.
Legolas stiffened when the figure came to a halt only inches from him. "We are ready for your accompaniment," it said after a moment of silence. At the words, Legolas realized that this was the same female figure, the one that seemed to have some type of authority.
Legolas moved not an inch when a white hand suddenly came out of the cloak and struck at him with amazing speed. Time seemed to pause for a second when the hand was withdrawn and Legolas felt nothing, until his hands suddenly came free. Astonished, the elf held his hands in front of them. They had been removed from the wall, but were still bound together.
When the surprise had faded, the elf prince could not help slumping forward until he was on his knees. The sudden withdrawal of the support the chains had been giving him was too much on him. His body would not obey him and stand on its own. In vain, Legolas strove to right himself and not appear weak, but he only slumped forward still and would have gone all the way down had he not placed his chained hands on the ground in front of him. Legolas decided to not move and tried to catch his breath.
The female was directly in front of him, not offering any help, but not inflicting more injuries either. One should be grateful for small things.
"Get up," the female suddenly commanded, "you have to prepare yourself before you can be seen, it would be disgraceful."
Legolas looked up, small dots swimming in his vision. He did not even try to stand, but focused his strength on something else. "Who are you?" he gasped out, his voice strained, the first words uttered in a few days.
"So the proud elf prince can speak," came the voice from the hood, "we were beginning to have doubts. I am afraid that none of your questions can be answered right now, not until our own have been met. But you might find out one day, have hope for that." The voice was light and unaffected by Legolas' pain, "Now kindly get up, I shall not carry you."
After several efforts, Legolas drew himself up to his knees, than to his feet. His motions were no where as graceful as they normally were, but the fact that he could move at all was good enough. The robed figure went on ahead of him, not particularly caring about how far Legolas fell behind.
When the elf reached the door of the room, and thus the exit, he hesitated. The female continued on in a brisk pace, and had seemingly forgotten about him. Legolas had to take the chance. Summoning the last of his strength, Legolas swiftly turned to a side corridor and bolted. He was in no condition to run, but the elf ignored his body and focused only on moving as quickly as possible. The chains around his hands made more noise than he liked, but that could not be helped at the moment.
There was no other sound outside of the rattling chains and Legolas' pained breath. Hope glimmered before the elf like a mirage to an exhausted traveler. Legolas tried to quicken his pace and get out of there before anybody noticed his disappearance. Heedlessly, Legolas turned a corner, and braked immediately. One of the cloaked figures stood in the middle of the hall, blocking his route. Legolas was about to make up his mind to charge when the figure spoke.
"The fault is all mine for thinking that one such as yourself could be trusted. Now I am afraid that punishment will be severe. Let this not happen again." It was the female voice; the same female Legolas had just ran from. He found himself wondering how she could have possibly gotten here before him, but all thoughts were quickly expelled from him when a leg came out of the cloak and smashed into the elf's chest. Legolas fell back, his old wounds protesting at the treatment.
However weak he was, Legolas was no longer tied up, and that had been an unfair advantage. Now he was free to move about, even if his hands were still bound together. Legolas immediately stood and went into a defensive crouch, dropping the exhaustion and pain that had overtaken him. He remembered suddenly the dagger he had dropped in his quiver, but he would wait to use it. No use in letting the female know what he had until it was too late for her.
Legolas wanted to attack, but he found himself hesitating. His foe was female after all, and the old pretences had been instilled in him, more so since he was a prince. Females were to be protected at all costs and never fought against, as they would be unable to match the male.
His hesitation cost him, however, and the female quickly proved that she was knowledgeable in the arts of fighting. Another kick caught Legolas in the jaw and his vision swam for a moment. Her next move was countered, and Legolas then concentrated on only blocking and defending himself, he would not be the one to attack.
The elf tried to simply outmaneuver the female and get around her to run, but that proved to be impossible. And the weight on his hands was enough to slow his movements and sap some strength. Legolas was aware that he was tiring, and tiring quickly. This had to end soon or his chance at freedom would be forever gone.
Legolas went for the dagger. As fast as his hands could move in their current condition, Legolas reached around to the quiver, removed the dagger, and threw it at his opponent in one, fluid motion. The dagger hit its mark, and this time it was the female who screamed. She dropped to her knees, the blade buried in her shoulder. Wasting no more time, Legolas turned and started to run once more. The counterattack came as a complete surprise.
The dagger, the very one he had thrown at the female, found its way back to Legolas. With absolute shock, Legolas went to his knees, the dagger imbedded in his back, between his shoulder blades, a highly fatal spot. Apparently the female had been down but not beaten.
"She-devil," Legolas gasped as he reached around and yanked the dagger out. He did not have a chance to do anymore as he was suddenly pulled to his feet by his blonde hair. He was spun until he faced his foe. The female had hold of him, blood flowing freely from her wounded shoulder, but her strength none the worse for it.
"Cursed elf," she hissed, "you will be taught a lesson." A blow to the middle doubled Legolas over, accompanied by a swift blow to the nose, which snapped him backwards. The chains were caught and yanked on cruelly, whipping Legolas back up once more, his arms feeling as though they had been torn free.
"Never again will you have this opportunity," the female declared before a direct blow to the face forced Legolas to lose touch with reality.