Wow! Check me out! Queen of the updates! I think that is a first for me - two updates in one week on the same story! Well, it has been plaguing my every thought, my dreams and even when I am at school, ideas are practically thrown at me! Lol, it is good - if only it were this way with all the others!

I am trying to add a slightly eccentric style to this through some of the characters. If anyone is a fan of Merven Peak, then you will know of what I speak.

Oh, and please do not give me that 'Legolas would not allow Ruksyn to do that' speech, as I am aware of that. Everything I do has a reason; it is just that you shall all have to wait to find it out!

*****

Extorted

Chapter Two

Discoveries

*****

"The separate doors are not locked at night, but the ward is though I suggest that you not go wandering around anyways. You never know what is going on with the master of the house." Idis informed Estel as he led him through the twists and turns of the maze like house.

Legolas, his new master, had called for this man to escort Estel to the slave quarters that, as Estel had found out through Idis' chatter, was referred to be the slaves as the 'ward'. The young human had no real reasonable explanation for this save maybe the fact that it was a hope that they all clung to; a way in which to distract their minds off the situation that they had all wound up in. As he saw it, let them have their words and underlining meanings to everything - if it kept them alive and going then it should be seen as a Valar sent.

Idis, a middle-height, skinny man with a heavy stoop, was at least twenty years Estel's senior and was considered the head 'servant' - yet another term the slaves enjoyed to throw around as if they actually had their freedom and a choice in the matter. The constant shaking of his hands and the unsteadiness of his walk suggested a hard life, especially to affect one still considered in the last years of his prime. His skin was hardened and leathery and yet strangely pale; as if he had never spent a full day within the light of the sun. Idis' eyes were of a sea green, his hair a strange mixture of grey and what would have once been flame red, and pulled into a single ponytail. All in all, he was the utter and complete opposite to Estel, who was tall, tanned and well built.

"What do you mean 'going on with the master of the house'?" Estel asked, desperate for all the information that he could gather about his new 'home'.

Stopping in a long hallway, Idis turned to his follower, a dark look on his face. Glancing over his shoulder and then back over Estel's, he leaned in closer to the boys face, his eyes bulging with the secretive look that his leathery features twisted into.

"Moods," he whispered in a frightened voice that seemed to echo the darkness that had crept through the hall. "Moods that change like the wind." Switching from his foreboding sense of tension, he turned on his heels and started stalking down the corridor again, muttering like a house wife. "So sad, so very sad," he sighed out. "Used to be so nice, so cheery. But now, now even I fear for those around him. So very, very sad."

Frowning at the words that seemed to slip from the man' mouth with an effortless ease, Estel scurried along to catch up with his guide.

"Fear for those around him?" he questioned, "how so?"

"He swings like a pendulum," Idis continued, ignoring the younger man's question as he walked along, his head slightly bobbing with each stride. "This way and that, this way and that. Always swinging, always moving from one to the other and never between. Such swings, such changes, never know what to do; to speak, to be silent. I pity that Elf though, pity him I do. But he heals, we all heal only some faster, some luckier and he is of the latter." Sighing dramatically, Idis stretched his hands out to the side. "Nothing we can do but, never anything we can do."

The man stopped once again outside a small wooden door, coming to such an abrupt halt that Estel, whose mind was wandering into the world which Idis had painted with his words, walked straight into him.

Ever since the words spoken of Estel's new master, the young man had been silently lost in a world of self-induced nightmares. It was bad enough that Lord Ruksyn had what Estel would consider an unstable mind, but the fact that he took it out on others was something that Estel thought only existed in dark tales of times long forgotten. And Legolas, what of him? If he were considered to be so special to the lord - as Estel had seen - why did he suffer also?

Pushing open an incredibly squeaky door which officially severed Estel's line of thought, Idis stepped aside and ushered Estel into the room as if the young man where a privileged guest.

"The best of those unattended," Idis informed the man as he slowly started to close the door with Estel in the room. "I shall fetch you when the sun is rising."

As the door clicked into place behind him, Estel sighed and looked about the tiny space, biting his bottom lip in what could only be a sign of being at a loss of what to do.

A small makeshift bed rested upon the floor in the right corner, its appearance suggesting that it did not even have a strand of straw for any form of comfort whatsoever. Two blankets lay atop what could laughably be called a mattress, their threads splitting and adorned with holes from the slow nibbling of moths, and even from where Estel stood in the doorway, he could see the slow crawling of fleas and silverfish. A small, stained pot sat across the other side of the room, its purpose easy to determine along with a grimy cloth that looked as if it had not been washed since it was woven.

A soft squeak made the young man jump despite his determination not to let this situation drag him down and, spinning around, he was in time to see a large and yet incredibly scrawny rat run into the room from under the door. The small mammal scurried across his booted foot and, after pausing long enough to see what it had just 'climbed' ran to the far side of the room and dived into the blankets of the bed.

"Charming." Estel muttered to himself. "The perfect home away from home!"

Eyes turned downwards, he quickly paced the room, counting his steps as he went. Five from side to side and seven and a half to the back wall. The stone was dark and almost damp to the touch, its walls that chilled that it created the illusion of feeling ice. In the corner left of the door, a large actual wet patch was made even darker in colour as a steadily moving trickle of water threaded its way through the crevices in the rocks face. It seemed like a cave, one in which creatures of the night flourished and dominated, tucked neatly away from the sun and the commotion of the world.

A window was cut into the far wall, its opening lined with thick bars running from top to bottom and casting large, ominous shapes across the rough stone floor. Peering out the small opening, Estel saw naught but the walls of a closed in courtyard and a few scattered plants; thriving surprisingly well considering their position.

Exhaling slowly through ring-shaped posed lips, the young man looked back at the bed in which he could see the moving lump of the mouse under the blankets as it tried to make itself comfortable.

"Fine," he said to the small rodent, "I did not want the bed anyway; make yourself at home."

Crossing the tiny space, he picked up the pot and kicked the towel as he relocated both over to the other side of the room. Huddling in the left corner, he tucked his hands under his armpits and placed his head on his knees.

"If the rat and trees can survive," he muttered to himself as he watched the still moving blob in the bed, "then so can I."

*****

"Wake up, wake up. Rise and shine my little fellow!" a voice called as the door rattled open, drawing Estel's attention away from the glaring match that he was having with the large spider that had decided it wanted to share his room.

"I am awake," he muttered as the door revealed Idis from the night before.

Estel had not slept for a moment throughout the night; every times his eyes closed he had flashes of the horrors that could well be on the horizon and the things that he still had yet to do in life. It was through one of those sessions of 'I have wasted my life' that he first saw three legs gradually moving in from the un-shuttered window. Transfixed in horror, he sat there and watched as a spider as large as both his hands moved into the room and took up a position above the bed. After a few moments, he finally came to his senses and leapt to his feet, jumping and waving his hands about as if it were a dog and he was telling it to 'shoo'. Yet each attempt came sadly to the same result. Nothing.

Since then he was not even game enough to blink let alone try to sleep. He could rush head on into an overwhelming number of Orcs and not be as terrified as he was of spiders - they had that whole eight-legged, crawling thing that just did not seem normal.

Now, as the sun was just starting to rise in the East, her rays not even strong enough to press into the darkness of his small cell, Estel wanted nothing more then to get out this physical and emotional prison.

Standing somewhat shakily to his feet and leaning heavily upon the stone wall, Estel waited until his legs felt as if they would support his weight and stop tingling. After a moment of stretching and working the knots out of his neck, the young human made his way over to the door where Idis stood waiting patiently.

"Ready for this?" the older man asked with a slight hint of concern and almost no signs of insanity in his voice.

"As ready as I shall ever be," Estel replied, trying to remain cheerful and not become too pessimistic.

Without so much as another word, Idis turned on his heels and stalked away, his head bobbing like a ship caught in the waves of the sea as he left Estel to scurry quickly after him in order to keep up.

Three lefts and a right later, they were greeted with the bustle of a busy and heated kitchen. Pots and pans clanged, knives hit chopping boards at astonishing speeds, people hurried from one side to the other while shouting orders and commands whilst a steady puff of steam clouded the room from the numerous furnaces. The back wall was strung with cord and fitted with hooks, the cooking utensils hanging off either one of the two holders.

"The kitchen," Idis said with a wave of his hand and as if the sight before Estel needed clarifying.

A small, soot covered child pattered past Estel's knees, his head that thickly coated with the black substance that Estel would have sworn the child would have been invisible in the dark. Looking in the direction that the child had come, Estel could see little sooty footprints leading away from the large, now ignited fireplace. Three women stood by the large coal fueled ovens, their hair wrapped up in turbans of off-colour white as they stirred large, steaming pot with great spoons.

"Slaughter house that way," Idis said while motioning off to the right and a door that lead into what looked like a fenced off area, "store rooms there," his hand moved to indicated the three doors to the left, "and the outhouse is out yonder."

Not even stopping for Estel to gain his bearings, he continued on, his strange gait setting him aside from the others of the room who ran about in a form of frantic commotion.

"Breakfast has already been prepared," a man called out to them as he walked forward with a rolling pin held tightly in one hand. "But you," he waved the wooden cylinder in Estel's face, letting loose tiny wisps of flour that settled upon the younger man's face, "will have your chance to help tomorrow. You shall cater for Master Legolas so I expect that you will pick up the ways of this house soon enough or it shall not only be the lord of the house after your blood." With that said, the short, round man barked out an order at a boy that seemed younger then even Estel before speeding off to correct an old woman in her kneading techniques.

"Scife, Scife, Scife," Idis muttered what was obviously the name of the head cook, "always in a hurry, always busy. Mind him and you shall do well, slow him and you shall do no more. Not ever, not ever I say." Shaking the ramblings from his mind, Idis continued walking towards the back of the room where a large number of caskets lined the stone walls.

"That," he motioned to a silver tray sitting upon a small table with plates of various foods sitting upon it, "is the tray for Master Legolas. This one is for the master," he pointed out one of gold and silver trimmings, "but you need not worry about that. Nay, not worry about that, I tell you."

Changing his line of vision, Idis let out a long and dramatic sigh. "These caskets," he directed Estel's attention to a high pile of sealed barrels that stood staked against the wall, "are for your master while these," he pointed out another separate stack, "are for Master Ruksyn."

Brow knotting, Estel looked the barrels over, his eyes searching for anything that looked different between the two sets of water. "Why does he have a separate water supply?" he finally asked, his curiosity obviously not able to be satisfied with his mere glances.

"That I do not rightfully know," Idis said in truth, "but master says that his guest likes to have his own water - some thing to do with the Elves. Elves are different to human's you know. So very, very different. Odd even, not knowing our ways and all. They just come and go, come and go..." Shaking his head for no apparent reason, Idis set his jaw forward and wandered off in the direction of the slaughter house, his further muttered words lost to the young man.

Eyeing the two jugs of water that sat on each of the respective trays, Estel pressed his lips together in deep thought. The extent of questions that hurled through his mind at that moment were almost enough to make his head feel as if it were about to implode.

Finally coming to his decision, Estel looked over his shoulder and, when he was certain that no one else was watching; he quickly switched Legolas' water jug with Lord Ruksyn's. Picking up the Elf's breakfast tray, he hurried out of the room, leaving the shouts of the cook far behind.

*****

Legolas sat in the small courtyard, running his fingers through the cool waters of the only fountain still running within the manor. Mind lost in thought, he only half watched the idle swirls that his fingers created on the surface of the water as the trailed through. The water passed between each outstretched digit only to come spinning back into place just behind the slicing action that his pale fingers made.

This courtyard had long been his sanctuary, his little safe haven tucked away from the happenings of the house and the people there within. He could remember when he first came here and found this garden. It had been in a state of disrepair, the few living things overthrown with a tangle of suffocating weeds and twisted creepers. He had, being the wood Elf that he was, taken it into his personal time to restore the beauty that the small garden had once held, and, in reward for all the efforts and care that he had provided, it had offered him a place to clear his head or fill his mind with questions.

Strangely enough, this garden was the first thing that he remembered about this place. He could not recall how he had come to be here, neither how long he had been there since nor even where he had dwelt the years before his life within these stone walls. He knew that he was not born here, or sent here as a young child for still in his memory were great forests of greens of all colours and the distinct chirping of woodland birds. There was this constant haze in his mind that forbid him to accept the fact that he had been here his entire life and was forever prodding him to remember something of importance. He knew that he was an Elf and that he was immortal, but how long had he actually been treading the earth for?

The clamor of a door slamming and faint shouts of guards alerted him to the return of Lord Ruksyn and his troops as they tore through the house like an angry mob.

Fighting back a shudder, Legolas forced his legs to comply with what he knew he had to do as he stood and slowly walked back towards the only door that lead to the almost secret yard.

As he entered one of the numerous greeting halls of the huge house, he could see a group of men press Ruksyn down into a chair, their actions and movements hurried and desperate. Wanting to know what was transpiring, Legolas moved through the crowd and peered over the heads of the humans, all of which were slightly shorter then he.

Men crowed around the lord, their shouts and engagements making them appear to be busy when in fact it seemed more likely that none were really doing anything. Ruksyn had apparently taken a sword in the right shoulder through the skirmish that had lasted the entire night and, from what Legolas could make out, had been rushed back to the safely of the manor.

Looking at the wound with interest, Legolas was amazed to see that it was not, professionally speaking, all that bad. The blade had slipped into the crevices of Ruksyn's hardened leather armor - the results of an extremely lucky shot or an incredibly precise and skilled swordsmen - yet had not gone through to the other side of his body.

Something deep inside Legolas seemed to click at that moment, seemed to play upon some long lost memory or thought, enticing it up to the surface and into the light. It was not a fatal wound, and, with this second of clarity that Legolas was experiencing, he knew that if it were he leading his people, he would have fought on. He would not have been dragged off the battle field for such a trivial injury, not when his homeland and his people depended upon him in such a way. He would have fought on till the end.

Watching as the blood seeped from his lord's arm, Legolas realized that he felt nothing inside. He felt neither sadness nor worry, or even a touch of concern for the man that had housed him for so long. There was no feeling at all; not even grim satisfaction at the sight of the blood of the man that had caused him worse injuries over the course of time that he had resided there.

Sensing eyes boring into him, Legolas looked up to see Ruksyn glaring at him with an expression as intense as the lick of fire.

"Come here!" he demanded of the Elf while shoving his men out of the way.

Repressing a chill, Legolas moved slowly over to the seated lord as the rest of the people scurried out of the room as fast as they could.

Ruksyn looked the Elf up and down with an approving eye that Legolas so detested. He felt as if he were a horse in the market for sale; that Ruksyn was looking him over and assessing his use.

"Why did you return, my lord?" Legolas asked quietly, his voice small and timid. There was no real reason to ask the question at all, but the Elf just felt that he had to find a way to stop the man from looking him over else he would be sick.

"Why do you think?" Ruksyn demanded angrily, his eyes still roaming over the Elf's figure. "Those barbarians stabbed a hole in my arm!"

Eyes darting to the wound again, Legolas saw once more that it was hardly anything to be so worried about. Feeling that small flare of defiance, the result of his lack of emotion towards the man, flicker up inside him, Legolas could not help but continue his questioning. "But it is not a fatal wound," he pointed out. "Surely you would have wanted to stay with your men; to lead them on..."

Reaching out and grabbing both the Elf's wrists, Ruksyn hauled the blond close to his chest, forcing Legolas to bend in the middle and raise his head in order to keep eye contact. As Ruksyn's grip tightened, Legolas could feel the cuff of his slightly open, white lace up shirt soaking up the blood that trickled from the uncovered wound in the human's shoulder. Small drops forced their way through the flimsy material and trailed down the pale flesh of his arm, colouring the shirt a deep crimson as they fell.

Shaking the blond violently against him, Ruksyn's face reddened to match Legolas' stained shirt, his bloodshot eyes bulging from his head as he shook with suppressed anger.

"Curse you!" he spat at the Elf, his voice as venomous as a rattlesnake. "Curse you and your impudence! After all that I have done, all that I have given you!"

"My Lord," Legolas gasped out as the human's hands tightened beyond that which was bearable. "You are hurti-"

"Am I hurting you?" Ruksyn asked with a brutal laugh while shaking the Elf's arms even further. A strangled gasp slipped past Legolas' lips as his teeth near on rattled within his head. "Am I hurting you, you ungrateful little sod?" Wrenching Legolas even closer, he blared into the Elf's face, his words emphasized with small globs of spit. "I do not care if I hurt you, you know that."

Shifting his weight, Ruksyn bore down on the Elf, making Legolas kneel on the floor at his feet while the lord still sat in the chair. Shifting his right hand slightly, Ruksyn grabbed a hold of a lock of the Elf's silky hair and wrenched his head upright so that he could pierce those ice-blue eyes with his own ones of black.

"I like to make you squirm, to see you in pain and getting what you deserve." He taunted, "Scream for me, little one, scream for your master in that delightful little voice of yours!"

He had screamed before, begged for mercy and for the pain to stop. He had done everything Ruksyn had demanded of him, played into each one of his twisted little fantasies and games until he shook with exhaustion and found his limbs unmovable due to the mistreatment. But not this time.

It seemed different somehow. As if the fact of his past realization that he would have continue to fight for his people provided him with the strength and courage to stand up against his lord, even if it was just through silence.

As Legolas glared defiantly into his lord's eyes, silently horrified by the fact that he was as helpless as ever and could do naught to stop what may come next, something seemed to pass over the man's irises. The anger drained from Ruksyn's face as the receding tide from the shoreline and was quickly replaced with a slight glimmer of remorse.

Dropping his vice like grip upon the Elf's arm's, Ruksyn reached a blood covered hand up to Legolas' face, trailing his fingers down the pallid skin with a gentleness that always managed to surprise the Elf when if was shown.

"I am sorry, my pet," Ruksyn almost purred out as he ran his other hand through the Elf's golden hair, coating the strands in a shimmering red. Moving both arms so that they closed around the shaken Elf's waist, he pulled Legolas up onto his lap, molding the lithe body to his like putty.

Stroking the Elf's hair and back in a soothing action, Ruksyn murmured quietly into the pointed ear that lay just below his chin.

"I am sorry, little one. I did not mean it, you know that." Pressing a kiss to Legolas' temple, he continued, "You know that I hate to see you in pain, that I hate it when people hurt you."

Shaking at what he could only place as being disillusioned words, Legolas felt the man's grip upon him tighten as his patting increased. Blue eyes staring out into space, Legolas told himself that this was not his life, that it was not real and that soon enough he would wake up in a better place.

"Now love," Ruksyn said gently yet with a clear suggestive leer in his tone, "come bind my wound and I shall see if I can find a way to calm you."

*****

Tbc...

So, that was the next chapter. Hope you are still enjoying it and that it is still making you think. Oh, and I like Idis! He is cool in a strange, muttering insane sort of way! Lol.

Minka.