Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except random orcs and Nifien.
(*Sarcastically * Oh joy.)
Yes, I am back! I was really depressed while writing this, after a dance that was fun except for the slow songs, which were depressing, but I'm depressed and tired. But weirdly, I can write freaky good when I'm sad. So please be nice and make me happy and review, pretty please!
* * *
Silence hung in the air, like a great, dark blanket wrapping itself about them.
"His answer is no."
Saruman wheeled on Legolas, a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes, kindled by an underlying light of pleasure.
A crack sounded in the thick air, and a whip lashed out of the shadows, like a tongue from a great cavernous mouth. It licked across Legolas' back. He winced slightly.
"I am not ask-"
"My answer is no."
Saruman turned from his victim to Thranduil. Though little was portrayed in his eyes, Thranduil thought he saw that little flicker of gladness leap into flames.
"So you agree with your son." Thranduil was sure of it now. "Perhaps you can be persuaded."
The orc holding the whip emerged from the shadows. He stood just off to the side of Legolas, so that the elves could still see him.
Saruman waved a small hand motion.
Crack.
Thranduil's mind panicked. Though Legolas showed no pain on his face, he could feel his turmoil. Feel the shocks of pain in his very body, shrieking through his body as the whip licked and then bit into the untainted flesh.
"You have no right to do this!" he shouted angrily, only barely keeping his voice from wavering.
Saruman grinned. "Then stop me."
Haldir had half a mind to toss a dagger through the wizard's heart-if he even had one-and pierce his body with arrows again, and again, and again, until death wrapped it's icy grasp about him, and even then, let his dead body suffer, and suffer, and suffer. It wouldn't matter if the entire army of Uruk-hai came onto them, he wanted Saruman to suffer. And he knew, that before he himself met his end, the wizard would.
"What do you say now?" Saruman spoke. Every little word, every little syllable, the elves hated. They loathed how he grinned at their horror, and how he almost laughing at Legolas' torment. Every one of them wanted him dead; wanted him to lie on the ground, and taste his own blood, and choke on it, as life drifted away.
Again, Legolas spoke up. "His answer is no! He will not give you his kingdom!" His voice shrunk to nearly a mumble. "Not for me."
But Thranduil heard him. He heard Legolas' despaired voice mutter those doubting words. And he wanted more than anything to have Legolas back. He felt he would give anything for his return, even his own kingdom.
"Pester them no longer! They will not give you what you want!"
Haldir's heart shattered. And then the shambles were crushed, crushed to a fine dust. How Legolas could be so determined even through his pain, escaped him. So pure, so strong a soul; he deserved nothing of what he was receiving. He deserved to be freed from that rope, freed from the dungeons.
But Haldir still had that fragment of rational thought left: not at the current price.
Crack.
Crack.
The whip then fell across the back of Legolas' knees. The flesh gave way beneath the cruel leather, and spilt forth blood. Legolas' legs gave out from beneath him, and he now hung from the rope, suspended over the ground.
Again and again, the orc aimed for Legolas' legs. And then he moved. He came to the front of him. Where scar upon scar of healing tissue remained, and still fresh wounds invited the cruel creature to open them again, and let them retch forth their part of agony. The orc's yellow eyes rose. He was looking at Legolas' broken hand.
Crack!
Legolas' eyes suddenly widened, his teeth gritted together, as the lash fell over his crushed hand.
Crack!
Again.
Crack!
And again.
"Is your answer still no, Thranduil? You are free to change your mind any time you desire."
And how he wished to change it right then! But he remained in his forsaken silence, not trusting his own words.
Suddenly, the orc relented. He shrunk away back into the shadows. Legolas raised his head to the sky, his eyes shut.
Elbereth, save me.
Thranduil's eyes were locked on the little puddles of blood collecting beneath Legolas' body.
Drip.
Splash.
Drip.
Splash.
It was the only sound he seemed to hear. And he chided himself for not doing anything to help his son. But he continued to remind himself over and over: not at the current price.
"Thranduil, answer me now. What is your decision?"
The elf lord calmed himself. "No." He was aware of how soft his voice was, but he feared that he may give away his grief and accept Saruman's offer.
Saruman grinned. Thranduil's hands clenched into fists. "It will only get worse."
The orc returned. Now he held a long, thick iron, one end of it glowing red.
The creature approached Legolas, the glowing end reflecting in it's round, yellow eyes.
He plunged the iron upon one of Legolas' still fresh wounds. He writhed as the orc twisted it, and pressured it. And he knew he couldn't stay strong much longer.
The orc then chose another fairly recent wound. He shoved the iron into where the scab had yet to heal, and Legolas let out a strangled, muffled cry.
Horror licked a black, cruel flame in Thranduil's heart. It burned at his insides, singed at his composure.
Another and yet another gash the orc chose. As cut after cut reopened, blood spilt forth onto the floor, a tiny sea beneath Legolas' feet.
"What is your answer now, Thranduil? Do you stand still with your son?"
"You shall not have Mirkwood." Haldir confirmed, in place of Thranduil, who was slowly, slowly being driven from his rationality.
Saruman grinned, yet again, that evil grin, oozing malice. "My, it does take a lot to persuade you, doesn't it?"
Haldir couldn't restrain himself from gasping at what happened next.
The orc raised the iron, still hot, above his shoulder, and brought it down mercilessly upon Legolas' ribs. A muffled cry escaped his pale lips.
Another blow caught him on the other side.
This time, he let out an icy scream, which pierced every gentle heart that could hear. When he shut his mouth, his eyes began to droop. The iron came down again across the same spot. And again, he cried out. Black spots began to frolic in his field of vision; the sounds began to blend into each other. He was loosing too much blood . . .
"STOP!" Thranduil shouted.
Saruman held up a hand for the orc to stop.
"You cannot do this." Before Saruman could say anything, he continued. "But you shall not have Mirkwood." There was a note of finality in his voice.
Saruman smiled openly. "Very well, Thranduil. But stray not far. You shall be called upon again."
Thranduil turned swiftly around, and strode quickly from the room, and descended from Isenguard with Haldir and the others racing after him.
They broke into a run as they came into the sunlight. They did not relent until they reached the borders of Lorien.
There, Thranduil slowed. He staggered to a small boulder. He let his body slump to the earth, and let all his grief run carelessly in a downpour of anguished tears.
* * *
Voila, chapter 16! It's odd, I seem to write better when I'm depressed or in a crappy mood. But there you have it! Let's start with chapter 14 reviews. Thanks to Lady of the Forest, little-lost-one, Goblz, and Legolasluver.
Melissa greenleaf: *takes elf muffins * Yummy!
Mija: I hope you got the point, from all the evil, please-die-Saruman thoughts, that yes, he will get his.
Merrylyn: Yes, you're right, I think it is the glint in the eyes. And the laugh. Mwahahahhahahaha. Go Haldir!
Kate: Hm, you killed the guys in your school? Interesting. I'm going to kill most of the directors in Hollywood. There's a thing called the Conspiracy of the Hot Guys. In most movies, the hottest people usually die. Not in all (ie, LOTR), but lots. It's a conspiracy. And Mel Gibson has to die too. He's a duck.
The Dark Rogue: Hm, first two? I'll have to read them. I don't really read anything I write, just write it and run away and write something else. That' s me.
Princess-yumin: Aw, that sucks. I think computers have a secret little thing against the happiness of people like us. And I know, drinking unicorn blood is so evil! Must.kill.. uh.. whoever drank it (I forget).
Lia Strife: HELLO!
Now, for chapter 15 reviews. Thank you to ZeroCool Lady of the Forest, Melissa greenleaf, usula, goblz, Erhothwen.
Merrylyn: Revenge on it's way..sometime..I don't know when yet, but IT WILL HAPPEN!
Lia Strife: Oui, inner torment is way worse than physical. Because physical you can hide it, you can heal it, you can ignore it. You can't ignore your own thoughts raging at you.
Kate: I am cruel. Cruel am I. Cruel is me. I am the Dark One.
The Dark Rogue: Okay, I am not killing Legolas. First and foremost. Because I love him, and he cannot die. But on your other request, sure! Give me your email, I'll email you.
Princess-yumin: Yay, we can have an after-school voodoo class! I know, cliff-hangers rock, eh? Most people hate them, I love them! And yes, the whole spiel about the spectator vs. actually being there, that's true. You can't feel something, I think, unless you're either right there, or you are that person.
Lady of Dreams: Hm, another Nifien hater. I may be pleased here. And I know she seems freaky insensitive . . .you've given me ideas. I need to do something with that. *GASP * Sudden inspiration! HAHA! Ideas, thank you thank you thank you. And there is a reason for her insensitiveness. Trust me.
Lirenel: Don't worry; I couldn't concentrate if I had to hurt ALL the elves. Only one getting physically hurt is Legolas.
Good bye for now! Will continue soon! Please be kind and review!
~Searcher of Souls~
Yes, I am back! I was really depressed while writing this, after a dance that was fun except for the slow songs, which were depressing, but I'm depressed and tired. But weirdly, I can write freaky good when I'm sad. So please be nice and make me happy and review, pretty please!
* * *
Silence hung in the air, like a great, dark blanket wrapping itself about them.
"His answer is no."
Saruman wheeled on Legolas, a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes, kindled by an underlying light of pleasure.
A crack sounded in the thick air, and a whip lashed out of the shadows, like a tongue from a great cavernous mouth. It licked across Legolas' back. He winced slightly.
"I am not ask-"
"My answer is no."
Saruman turned from his victim to Thranduil. Though little was portrayed in his eyes, Thranduil thought he saw that little flicker of gladness leap into flames.
"So you agree with your son." Thranduil was sure of it now. "Perhaps you can be persuaded."
The orc holding the whip emerged from the shadows. He stood just off to the side of Legolas, so that the elves could still see him.
Saruman waved a small hand motion.
Crack.
Thranduil's mind panicked. Though Legolas showed no pain on his face, he could feel his turmoil. Feel the shocks of pain in his very body, shrieking through his body as the whip licked and then bit into the untainted flesh.
"You have no right to do this!" he shouted angrily, only barely keeping his voice from wavering.
Saruman grinned. "Then stop me."
Haldir had half a mind to toss a dagger through the wizard's heart-if he even had one-and pierce his body with arrows again, and again, and again, until death wrapped it's icy grasp about him, and even then, let his dead body suffer, and suffer, and suffer. It wouldn't matter if the entire army of Uruk-hai came onto them, he wanted Saruman to suffer. And he knew, that before he himself met his end, the wizard would.
"What do you say now?" Saruman spoke. Every little word, every little syllable, the elves hated. They loathed how he grinned at their horror, and how he almost laughing at Legolas' torment. Every one of them wanted him dead; wanted him to lie on the ground, and taste his own blood, and choke on it, as life drifted away.
Again, Legolas spoke up. "His answer is no! He will not give you his kingdom!" His voice shrunk to nearly a mumble. "Not for me."
But Thranduil heard him. He heard Legolas' despaired voice mutter those doubting words. And he wanted more than anything to have Legolas back. He felt he would give anything for his return, even his own kingdom.
"Pester them no longer! They will not give you what you want!"
Haldir's heart shattered. And then the shambles were crushed, crushed to a fine dust. How Legolas could be so determined even through his pain, escaped him. So pure, so strong a soul; he deserved nothing of what he was receiving. He deserved to be freed from that rope, freed from the dungeons.
But Haldir still had that fragment of rational thought left: not at the current price.
Crack.
Crack.
The whip then fell across the back of Legolas' knees. The flesh gave way beneath the cruel leather, and spilt forth blood. Legolas' legs gave out from beneath him, and he now hung from the rope, suspended over the ground.
Again and again, the orc aimed for Legolas' legs. And then he moved. He came to the front of him. Where scar upon scar of healing tissue remained, and still fresh wounds invited the cruel creature to open them again, and let them retch forth their part of agony. The orc's yellow eyes rose. He was looking at Legolas' broken hand.
Crack!
Legolas' eyes suddenly widened, his teeth gritted together, as the lash fell over his crushed hand.
Crack!
Again.
Crack!
And again.
"Is your answer still no, Thranduil? You are free to change your mind any time you desire."
And how he wished to change it right then! But he remained in his forsaken silence, not trusting his own words.
Suddenly, the orc relented. He shrunk away back into the shadows. Legolas raised his head to the sky, his eyes shut.
Elbereth, save me.
Thranduil's eyes were locked on the little puddles of blood collecting beneath Legolas' body.
Drip.
Splash.
Drip.
Splash.
It was the only sound he seemed to hear. And he chided himself for not doing anything to help his son. But he continued to remind himself over and over: not at the current price.
"Thranduil, answer me now. What is your decision?"
The elf lord calmed himself. "No." He was aware of how soft his voice was, but he feared that he may give away his grief and accept Saruman's offer.
Saruman grinned. Thranduil's hands clenched into fists. "It will only get worse."
The orc returned. Now he held a long, thick iron, one end of it glowing red.
The creature approached Legolas, the glowing end reflecting in it's round, yellow eyes.
He plunged the iron upon one of Legolas' still fresh wounds. He writhed as the orc twisted it, and pressured it. And he knew he couldn't stay strong much longer.
The orc then chose another fairly recent wound. He shoved the iron into where the scab had yet to heal, and Legolas let out a strangled, muffled cry.
Horror licked a black, cruel flame in Thranduil's heart. It burned at his insides, singed at his composure.
Another and yet another gash the orc chose. As cut after cut reopened, blood spilt forth onto the floor, a tiny sea beneath Legolas' feet.
"What is your answer now, Thranduil? Do you stand still with your son?"
"You shall not have Mirkwood." Haldir confirmed, in place of Thranduil, who was slowly, slowly being driven from his rationality.
Saruman grinned, yet again, that evil grin, oozing malice. "My, it does take a lot to persuade you, doesn't it?"
Haldir couldn't restrain himself from gasping at what happened next.
The orc raised the iron, still hot, above his shoulder, and brought it down mercilessly upon Legolas' ribs. A muffled cry escaped his pale lips.
Another blow caught him on the other side.
This time, he let out an icy scream, which pierced every gentle heart that could hear. When he shut his mouth, his eyes began to droop. The iron came down again across the same spot. And again, he cried out. Black spots began to frolic in his field of vision; the sounds began to blend into each other. He was loosing too much blood . . .
"STOP!" Thranduil shouted.
Saruman held up a hand for the orc to stop.
"You cannot do this." Before Saruman could say anything, he continued. "But you shall not have Mirkwood." There was a note of finality in his voice.
Saruman smiled openly. "Very well, Thranduil. But stray not far. You shall be called upon again."
Thranduil turned swiftly around, and strode quickly from the room, and descended from Isenguard with Haldir and the others racing after him.
They broke into a run as they came into the sunlight. They did not relent until they reached the borders of Lorien.
There, Thranduil slowed. He staggered to a small boulder. He let his body slump to the earth, and let all his grief run carelessly in a downpour of anguished tears.
* * *
Voila, chapter 16! It's odd, I seem to write better when I'm depressed or in a crappy mood. But there you have it! Let's start with chapter 14 reviews. Thanks to Lady of the Forest, little-lost-one, Goblz, and Legolasluver.
Melissa greenleaf: *takes elf muffins * Yummy!
Mija: I hope you got the point, from all the evil, please-die-Saruman thoughts, that yes, he will get his.
Merrylyn: Yes, you're right, I think it is the glint in the eyes. And the laugh. Mwahahahhahahaha. Go Haldir!
Kate: Hm, you killed the guys in your school? Interesting. I'm going to kill most of the directors in Hollywood. There's a thing called the Conspiracy of the Hot Guys. In most movies, the hottest people usually die. Not in all (ie, LOTR), but lots. It's a conspiracy. And Mel Gibson has to die too. He's a duck.
The Dark Rogue: Hm, first two? I'll have to read them. I don't really read anything I write, just write it and run away and write something else. That' s me.
Princess-yumin: Aw, that sucks. I think computers have a secret little thing against the happiness of people like us. And I know, drinking unicorn blood is so evil! Must.kill.. uh.. whoever drank it (I forget).
Lia Strife: HELLO!
Now, for chapter 15 reviews. Thank you to ZeroCool Lady of the Forest, Melissa greenleaf, usula, goblz, Erhothwen.
Merrylyn: Revenge on it's way..sometime..I don't know when yet, but IT WILL HAPPEN!
Lia Strife: Oui, inner torment is way worse than physical. Because physical you can hide it, you can heal it, you can ignore it. You can't ignore your own thoughts raging at you.
Kate: I am cruel. Cruel am I. Cruel is me. I am the Dark One.
The Dark Rogue: Okay, I am not killing Legolas. First and foremost. Because I love him, and he cannot die. But on your other request, sure! Give me your email, I'll email you.
Princess-yumin: Yay, we can have an after-school voodoo class! I know, cliff-hangers rock, eh? Most people hate them, I love them! And yes, the whole spiel about the spectator vs. actually being there, that's true. You can't feel something, I think, unless you're either right there, or you are that person.
Lady of Dreams: Hm, another Nifien hater. I may be pleased here. And I know she seems freaky insensitive . . .you've given me ideas. I need to do something with that. *GASP * Sudden inspiration! HAHA! Ideas, thank you thank you thank you. And there is a reason for her insensitiveness. Trust me.
Lirenel: Don't worry; I couldn't concentrate if I had to hurt ALL the elves. Only one getting physically hurt is Legolas.
Good bye for now! Will continue soon! Please be kind and review!
~Searcher of Souls~