Anamia
Chapter One: Reveries
A/N: I have updated this chapter... i made the CLEVEREST mistake of putting 'Theoden' instead of 'Thranduil'. I spelt Theoden wrong. I apologise for my sheer stupidness.
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The young Prince of Mirkwood stared at his plate with growing disgust.
"Please, your highness, eat up," pleaded the maid that knelt beside him, worry etched across her young face. The kitchen's bright light made his eyes painful to open. The elf picked up the silver plated spoon beside him and began to clear his plate, each mouthful harder than the next. The taste in his mouth was vile, the urge to spit it out and run started to feel friendly. With every cruel mouthful, twice as much appeard back on his plate. With frustration, he launched his spoon into his mouth, faster and faster, sickness in the pit of his stomach. The maid's worried look gradually turned to anger and she called for his father: Thranduil, King of the Northern Mirkwood Realm. With a glare, he stood tall over his youngest son.
"Why must you bear us with this burden?" he demanded. The young prince's rapid swallowing accelerated and the need to vomit suddenly became overwhelming. Incidently faster, still, he ate. With a snap, his belt buckle gave way and a slight whimper of relief sounded from him, forcing the contents of his stomach to return back down to where it came from. He picked up his water goblet and drained it. Relief swept through this body as the cold water flowed down his throat, washing away his so-called sins. But plate began to overflow and still, Thranduil stood over him, his eyes glittering with unmerciless danger. The intimated prince couldn't stop; he had to please his father. More and more, faster and faster. A slender chairleg snapped beneath his sheer weight and he hit the ground with a mighty tumult that echoed throughout the palace corridors. With great effort, his head lolled to the right side as he watched Thranduil flee from the room in rage.
"This is no son of mine!" he screamed with anger and hurried the remaining kitchen staff away, thoroughly disgusted by his son's appearance and behavior. And still the young prince grew, his waist expanded rapidly, until he felt his stomach bump against the high kitchen ceiling. Tears of anger burned his eyes. He was to stay here; to lay on the floor forever unwanted. His organs crushed under the entire of ballast, any moment his body would rip apart and explode, and- everything went blank.
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Reality flooded back and up as Legolas bolted upright with a violent gasp. Sickness and dizziness overwhelmed his senses and he gagged. The contents of his stomach promptly shot up to greet him and he lunged forward, retching and hacking over the side of the warm bed, onto the once spotless floor wooden floor. The elf took the air in gulps and hid his eyes through his hands in a desperate attempt to stop the room from spinning.With growing weakness he leaned unsteadily forward, supporting himself with his hands on the soft bed spread. The Prince rested his head on the bed, his energy sucked out of him.
It was just dream. How could anyone get so upset about something that wasn't real? Outside, a blood-red sunrise surfaced from the towering trees of Mirkwood. Awe and splendour poured into the window of Legolas' quarters, enticing him away from the baneful thoughts left in his head. But the shadows that clouded the corners of his mind drew him back with vengeance. He held his head in his hands, only a loose nightshirt to shield himself from Spring's morning chill, his body aching. He wrapped his shaking hands around his knees and buried his head into them, a despaired sigh escaping from the depths of his throat.
A short start, to this chapter.
Vikki
Chapter One: Reveries
A/N: I have updated this chapter... i made the CLEVEREST mistake of putting 'Theoden' instead of 'Thranduil'. I spelt Theoden wrong. I apologise for my sheer stupidness.
*******************************************************
The young Prince of Mirkwood stared at his plate with growing disgust.
"Please, your highness, eat up," pleaded the maid that knelt beside him, worry etched across her young face. The kitchen's bright light made his eyes painful to open. The elf picked up the silver plated spoon beside him and began to clear his plate, each mouthful harder than the next. The taste in his mouth was vile, the urge to spit it out and run started to feel friendly. With every cruel mouthful, twice as much appeard back on his plate. With frustration, he launched his spoon into his mouth, faster and faster, sickness in the pit of his stomach. The maid's worried look gradually turned to anger and she called for his father: Thranduil, King of the Northern Mirkwood Realm. With a glare, he stood tall over his youngest son.
"Why must you bear us with this burden?" he demanded. The young prince's rapid swallowing accelerated and the need to vomit suddenly became overwhelming. Incidently faster, still, he ate. With a snap, his belt buckle gave way and a slight whimper of relief sounded from him, forcing the contents of his stomach to return back down to where it came from. He picked up his water goblet and drained it. Relief swept through this body as the cold water flowed down his throat, washing away his so-called sins. But plate began to overflow and still, Thranduil stood over him, his eyes glittering with unmerciless danger. The intimated prince couldn't stop; he had to please his father. More and more, faster and faster. A slender chairleg snapped beneath his sheer weight and he hit the ground with a mighty tumult that echoed throughout the palace corridors. With great effort, his head lolled to the right side as he watched Thranduil flee from the room in rage.
"This is no son of mine!" he screamed with anger and hurried the remaining kitchen staff away, thoroughly disgusted by his son's appearance and behavior. And still the young prince grew, his waist expanded rapidly, until he felt his stomach bump against the high kitchen ceiling. Tears of anger burned his eyes. He was to stay here; to lay on the floor forever unwanted. His organs crushed under the entire of ballast, any moment his body would rip apart and explode, and- everything went blank.
*******************************************************
Reality flooded back and up as Legolas bolted upright with a violent gasp. Sickness and dizziness overwhelmed his senses and he gagged. The contents of his stomach promptly shot up to greet him and he lunged forward, retching and hacking over the side of the warm bed, onto the once spotless floor wooden floor. The elf took the air in gulps and hid his eyes through his hands in a desperate attempt to stop the room from spinning.With growing weakness he leaned unsteadily forward, supporting himself with his hands on the soft bed spread. The Prince rested his head on the bed, his energy sucked out of him.
It was just dream. How could anyone get so upset about something that wasn't real? Outside, a blood-red sunrise surfaced from the towering trees of Mirkwood. Awe and splendour poured into the window of Legolas' quarters, enticing him away from the baneful thoughts left in his head. But the shadows that clouded the corners of his mind drew him back with vengeance. He held his head in his hands, only a loose nightshirt to shield himself from Spring's morning chill, his body aching. He wrapped his shaking hands around his knees and buried his head into them, a despaired sigh escaping from the depths of his throat.
A short start, to this chapter.
Vikki