A/N: What do you think? Like it? Hate it?

I'll try to keep the "'twas" to myself for your sake, and as a thanks for catching those type-o's, Schmidlin! Also, I don't intend it to be entirely a Legolas torture story (sorry goblz), so things will change! I'd like to try out different stuff as well! Oh!, and for those who know nothing about the Valar, then you might be a bit confused with the title and the end... sorry, I just HAD to put it in somewhere... It's not very important, just know that everyone I name there is a Vala. I explain the name of the chapter at the end too... This is my little homage to "The Silmarillion".

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Chapter III- Nahar And Valaróma

With their leader gone, all of the goblins were showing their hatred more openly. Apparently, Glaukh's command was based on fear and, therefore, he was not so very popular. The captive elf, in his half-aware state, could not keep from noticing the irony of it: that even Glaukh's own kin had little love for him.

Lokgur was in charge now, and he had undertaken himself the task of tormenting Legolas before any of the others. For him, too, the goblins showed a fear-based respect, since they let him have his time with the elf alone. They merely watched from outside, even if some shifted positions and directed him some glares, Glaukh included.

He may had left the circle, but his eyes never left the captive elf, always transpiring a look of anger so intense that it would have melted the Red Horn itself. Strangely enough, this look was not intended to Legolas alone, it was also destined to Lokgur.

Lokgur made sure he pulled the elf's bonds to the limit, so tight that blood could not make his way into his hands. In the beginning, it was very disturbing, but soon Legolas could not feel anything any more, and then, he was even more disturbed. Lokgur wanted to start slowly, doing small things that would not trouble the elf greatly and then, gradually, worsen the treatment. It was his way of making sure that nothing was left unattended.

He put his foot upon Legolas' back, forcing him to lie down. The gravel on the ground clung to his wounds and the friction caused them to burn with aggravation. By now, the elf could not feel his right side. Lokgur, though, insisted on not leaving a single spot of abused flesh untouched. Legolas held his breath and grimaced against the ground. Each move was worsening his injuries and the elf did not wish to show it. He tried to ignore the pain, letting it course through him, but still it was felt, badly, and he could not help the occasional gasp that escaped his lips each time he had to breathe in.

Glaukh, however, from his vantage point, noticed every face the elf made and every sound, and his glare intensified.

But this did not last long, for the other goblins soon grew tired of the game. Watching was fine, and hearing those delicious gasps too, but they wanted more action, they wanted to hear screams and pleas! Yes... they wanted to kill.

And then, the goblins' fun truly began. Lokgur, resigned, gave up his exclusiveness over the captive and told the others to keep doing as he had, starting by small things. They didn't seem to agree, but complied nonetheless. As they had their time with the captive, he started thinking on what would make the elf scream louder.

Another goblin approached Legolas, and looked him in the eye, only a few inches away. He picked up a piece of metal, supposed to be a dagger, and traced numerous lines along the elf's face. Legolas stood still and broadened his shoulders, faking a sense of confidence and superiority and staring the other right in the eye, seeing he could not move, but in reality, fearful of what the creature had in mind, hoping it would not pierce his eyes with the nasty looking weapon. So focused on this was he, that he did not feel any of the many cuts that were being made.

One along his jaw, another on his cheek, the rough end of the weapon left a red trail behind. The goblin felt that something had to be done about the elf's beauty and gracefulness, along with his damned elven pride. Scratches and cuts were made everywhere, but fortunately for Legolas, none touched his eyes, even though some lines were traced near them... too near.

Then he left, and Legolas discovered that while his face was being worked over, another had been admiring his golden hair. He caught a side-glance of this one. He was bigger than the others were, more muscular, and he was wielding a rough scimitar. He wondered if the beast intended to behead him, but immediately dismissed that thought. Nay, they would never grant him such an easy death this early in his captivity. They would want to toy with him.

But still, he could not quite comprehend the treatment they were giving him. Not that he'd ever been captured before, but, according to the stories he'd heard, told by other elven warriors, by now he shouldn't even be able to stand on his own! Orcs and Goblins hated Elves above all else, and when they had the privilege of taking one captive, usually they would not last the day. Two or three days, the maximum. Legolas knew of this, for he had many times been on search parties for lost warriors and, most of the times, they would find the broken body, lying on the dirt only one or two days later. But he also knew another thing: the last times such had happened, they had not retrieved the body at all, and the elf's fate had remained unknown. And that was what he feared the most - not pain, nor death, but the uncertainty of what they wanted with him. Shadow grew stronger with each passing day and he feared what evil, twisted plans it had in store now, for those unfortunate ones who were captured.

The large goblin indeed had different plans. He pulled Legolas' hair, near the point of taking it right off his head and then, slowly, cut it off, lock by lock. The difference in tensions applied caused for Legolas to slightly wince at it, but he immediately stilled his body, tensing it up. It wasn't so much the hair that bothered him, but the pull on his already abused skin.

Before this one could finish his job though, Glaukh returned. He pushed everyone aside and gripped Legolas by the remnants of his hair, forcing him to a standing position. The archer's broken leg cried out in protest, so he did his best to support himself on his good one and then, he looked at Glaukh.

He had a furious look about his face, and, without warning, he'd taken the poisoned glove from its keeper and started pounding it on the proud Mirkwood elf, releasing both anger and hate, for both Legolas and Lokgur.

The spikes carved freely in the tender flesh, leaving deep gashes, from where blood poured down abundantly. Large bruises accompanied them as well, staining the white elven skin red with flowing blood, and purple with stagnated one. Legolas, somehow, in a far corner of his mind, vaguely remembered amidst the pain that the glove was that on which he had seen the poison before. What purpose did it serve, he knew not.

He could not take it. It was too much pain. If he'd thought the goblins were treating him too nicely earlier, he took it back now. He fell and curled up on the ground in a protective position of both his injured side and, partly, of his leg, forgetting all about pride and proper stances. Glaukh kept slamming the glove mercilessly into Legolas, adding a few rough kicks here and there to his ribs. The elf could not understand the sudden change, nor had he foreseen it. He'd been caught completely offguard and that same deep corner of his mind chastised him for it. He felt every blow with thrice their actual strength, due to his already weakened state. And every kick kept emptying his lungs, so that he was a long time without air. Each time, the blows were harder and stronger, and when Legolas finally caught his breath, there was nothing the elf could do to keep it in.

"Ai Elbereth! Daro! Daro! [Stop]"

He cried out desperately, but the goblin hit him even harder at that. Some spat on the floor, others on the elf, and others, still, simply stared and let a cruel smile of satisfaction take over their features, but Lokgur merely scowled. However, none dared approach Glaukh in his irate state.

By now, Legolas could not hold his vocal cords. He kept screaming, pleading in every language he knew. Screaming louder and louder and louder still, his throat growing dry and rasp, and somehow his mind was sane enough to realise that some of the sounds he heard were echoes of his own voice, the mountains' reply to his call.

"Ai! Stop! Daro!... A Beligered, sí car lasto nîn! Yanna nin gwîl, Híril Elbereth! [Stop!... O Great Mountains, (only) now do you listen to me! Give me peace, Lady Elbereth!]"

He began to feel less, and less pain touched him, but his eyes still saw Glaukh, burning with anger, hitting him more furiously than ever, and they vaguely took note of Lokgur, coming forward to join him. Soon, they too started to see less and close. And he was about to go unconscious again, only this time, he welcomed it gladly and let it wash over him without resistance.

"Hannad le, nin Híril Gilthoniel! [Thank you, my Lady Starkindler]", he whispered with a final effort and slumped on the ground.

As he let himself slowly drift into nothingness, a bright light came through his sealed eyelids, brighter even than that of the sun's, and sounds could be heard far off. It seemed he was among the stars, except the light was coming from the outside and not from around him. And what strange sounds were those? If he had not known better, he would have sworn it to be the horn of Tauron himself, Valaróma, so great and terrifying was the sound; and the light, the white of his horse, Nahar, shining gloriously in the sun. What was happening? He struggled to remain awake, holding onto what consciousness there was left, but he was too tired.

His mind could not make out anything more, for darkness finally and fully engulfed him and took him into blissful unawareness. He assumed Námo had come, bearing peace, along with his brother Irmo, bearing dreams, in the name of Elbereth.