Author's note: Sorry I'm a little slow in updating. Now I've got to think
of an excuse. The dog ate it? No, that's been used before. It was like that
when I got here? No.
I've got it, a group of aliens beamed me up and said they needed my help because another alien race were going to wipe them out unless they told their leader a story, and the race that beamed me up were all accountants and didn't know how to tell stories, so they needed me. That's why I'm late.
Honest.
***
The area they were taken to was clearly a market place. A long walkway, between two fences was designed for the slaves to paraded down and at the end a stage stood for auctions.
The cages stopped in clear view of these things. Lenna looked fearfully at them.
"Will they take me away from you?" Lenna asked.
"They may try," Aragorn said. The implication was that they wouldn't manage it, but Legolas noted he didn't say that. He didn't want to be a liar, and he knew they may well separate them.
The next morning, Lenna's fears were proved true. As they were shoved from the cages, a crowd of potential buyers watching carefully, Aragorn held her tightly in his arms, despite the chains.
They were guided along the walkway, men with whips on either side of the fences in case they slowed. Legolas pulled his hair down to cover his ears, though he knew it to be a futile attempt to hide his race. The eager crowds sickened him. They were looking at them as though they were nothing, as though they meant nothing.
How could any living creature do this to another? Anger surged through him, and he found his hands clenching of their own accord. He kept his head bent, knowing he could do nothing at the moment, knowing he couldn't let the slavers see what he wanted to do to them. He wished he had an army of elven warriors at hand so he could show these humans how he truly felt about slavery.
As they were herded out of the walkway and made to line up on the stage, Legolas noticed a man in the crowd looking in their direction. As he watched, the man walked up to one of the slavers. After a brief conversation and a leather bag changing hands, the man signalled to a handful of men, all dressed in black uniforms and bearing an emblem of fire.
He stood before Aragorn, his men around him, and Legolas thought he saw something in Aragorn's eyes. Recognition? Fear?
"You will wish you'd suffered your father's fate by the time I'm through with you," the man said quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aragorn responded. Legolas had had only a little experience with humans, but even he knew he was lying. One of the uniformed men seized Lenna violently and tore her from Aragorn's arms. She gave a cry of pain and fear as she was flung to the floor.
Legolas acted on instinct, lifting the child into his own arms, cradling her. Her head was pressed against his chest so she didn't see as the man who'd spoken to Aragorn buried his fist as far back into his stomach as it would go. Then with a wave of his hand he signalled the uniformed men to grab hold of him and haul him away, before he could recover from the blow.
Legolas could do nothing but watch.
***
Aragorn breathed through the pain as yet another blow landed. This was going to be a very, very bad day. A fist struck his stomach again, hitting the bruises from the multiple strikes he'd already received. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, but he couldn't clench his teeth against the pain.
He had been hauled from the slave pens and auction stages, held firmly by two men, each stronger than he was. The others walked in a close guard around, and those who held him hadn't taken much care to stop him from stumbling, enjoying hitting him when he slowed or fell.
His legs, cramped from lack of use in the cage, ached and throbbed and now a large portion of his body was decorated with bruises. He'd tried to remember the way he'd been taken, the streets used. It looked as though the people in this town didn't care much for making it attractive. At last they came to a house. Although house didn't seem quite fitting. Perhaps fortress would be a better description.
A high wall with a battlement looked down on the street, and narrow slits allowed archers to shoot through. A gate of heavy wood was guarded by men in black uniforms bearing the emblem of the fire. And carved into the stone above the gate was that same symbol. Glancing back as they passed through the gate, he saw that there were slits this side for the archers as well.
A wide space, devoid of cover, led up to the house. It was a large building, rectangular and adorned only with the symbol of fire above the building's only door. Here again were the signs of a fortress prepared for attack. Spear men on either side of the door saluted as the man who'd bought Aragorn led the way up the steps and into the building.
Guards were inside, well armed and attentive. They looked at Aragorn with unconcealed curiosity and malice. Aragorn didn't like the look of the expressions they send each other, the cruel smiles. But he didn't have time to think on this.
The man who now owned Aragorn turned to face him. Those holding him shoved him violently forward. He fell, throwing his hands out break his fall. A heavy boot seized the opportunity to press down on his figures.
"A fitting welcome to my home, son of Arathorn."
Aragorn raised his eyes to look at the man in front of him. He'd only been a boy when he'd seen him last, but it was him. Ackeran. And this time Lord Elrond wouldn't be able to step in for his defence.
"I never thought I'd have you in my grasp again, son of Arathorn," Ackeran said. Aragorn guessed by the fact he used his lineage rather than his name that he didn't know it. Certainly, when Aragorn had seen him last he'd still been called Estel, unaware of his heritage.
"You never had me in the first place."
"Perhaps not. Your precious elves stopped me, but not this time. That elf by your side didn't seem to anxious to help." Aragorn remained silent. If Ackeran learned that the elf was a prince, he'd pay thousands to have him and use him against Mirkwood. Aragorn had never been to Mirkwood and from Elladan and Elrohir's descriptions he didn't want to, but it was still home to elves and a kingdom he couldn't betray without hurting those who'd sheltered him ever since he was a child.
"I will make you suffer for everything your father did to me," Ackeran continued.
"What about what you did to him?" Aragorn snapped without thinking. The anger against this man still filled him. He didn't remember his father, never had the chance to know him, because of this man.
The boot removed itself from his fingers, and a hard kick was delivered to his side, followed by another and another. As he braced himself for the next kick, hands grabbed his shoulders and he was pulled off the floor slightly.
He had time to glimpse something grey and circular when it was pressed around his neck and snapped closed with a click. As the hands released him and he fell to the floor once more, he reached up and touched it. An iron collar was locked around his neck, and his searching fingers found a raised pattern on the front.
The sign of fire.
"You are mine, son of Arathorn," Ackeran said, "that collar will never come off. You will be mine for the rest of your days. Enjoy them."
***
Author's note: I didn't mean for it to be another 'Legolas gets the girl' fic, but I couldn't leave Lenna lying on the ground now, could I?
As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed. It's greatly appreciated, keep it up.
I've got it, a group of aliens beamed me up and said they needed my help because another alien race were going to wipe them out unless they told their leader a story, and the race that beamed me up were all accountants and didn't know how to tell stories, so they needed me. That's why I'm late.
Honest.
***
The area they were taken to was clearly a market place. A long walkway, between two fences was designed for the slaves to paraded down and at the end a stage stood for auctions.
The cages stopped in clear view of these things. Lenna looked fearfully at them.
"Will they take me away from you?" Lenna asked.
"They may try," Aragorn said. The implication was that they wouldn't manage it, but Legolas noted he didn't say that. He didn't want to be a liar, and he knew they may well separate them.
The next morning, Lenna's fears were proved true. As they were shoved from the cages, a crowd of potential buyers watching carefully, Aragorn held her tightly in his arms, despite the chains.
They were guided along the walkway, men with whips on either side of the fences in case they slowed. Legolas pulled his hair down to cover his ears, though he knew it to be a futile attempt to hide his race. The eager crowds sickened him. They were looking at them as though they were nothing, as though they meant nothing.
How could any living creature do this to another? Anger surged through him, and he found his hands clenching of their own accord. He kept his head bent, knowing he could do nothing at the moment, knowing he couldn't let the slavers see what he wanted to do to them. He wished he had an army of elven warriors at hand so he could show these humans how he truly felt about slavery.
As they were herded out of the walkway and made to line up on the stage, Legolas noticed a man in the crowd looking in their direction. As he watched, the man walked up to one of the slavers. After a brief conversation and a leather bag changing hands, the man signalled to a handful of men, all dressed in black uniforms and bearing an emblem of fire.
He stood before Aragorn, his men around him, and Legolas thought he saw something in Aragorn's eyes. Recognition? Fear?
"You will wish you'd suffered your father's fate by the time I'm through with you," the man said quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aragorn responded. Legolas had had only a little experience with humans, but even he knew he was lying. One of the uniformed men seized Lenna violently and tore her from Aragorn's arms. She gave a cry of pain and fear as she was flung to the floor.
Legolas acted on instinct, lifting the child into his own arms, cradling her. Her head was pressed against his chest so she didn't see as the man who'd spoken to Aragorn buried his fist as far back into his stomach as it would go. Then with a wave of his hand he signalled the uniformed men to grab hold of him and haul him away, before he could recover from the blow.
Legolas could do nothing but watch.
***
Aragorn breathed through the pain as yet another blow landed. This was going to be a very, very bad day. A fist struck his stomach again, hitting the bruises from the multiple strikes he'd already received. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, but he couldn't clench his teeth against the pain.
He had been hauled from the slave pens and auction stages, held firmly by two men, each stronger than he was. The others walked in a close guard around, and those who held him hadn't taken much care to stop him from stumbling, enjoying hitting him when he slowed or fell.
His legs, cramped from lack of use in the cage, ached and throbbed and now a large portion of his body was decorated with bruises. He'd tried to remember the way he'd been taken, the streets used. It looked as though the people in this town didn't care much for making it attractive. At last they came to a house. Although house didn't seem quite fitting. Perhaps fortress would be a better description.
A high wall with a battlement looked down on the street, and narrow slits allowed archers to shoot through. A gate of heavy wood was guarded by men in black uniforms bearing the emblem of the fire. And carved into the stone above the gate was that same symbol. Glancing back as they passed through the gate, he saw that there were slits this side for the archers as well.
A wide space, devoid of cover, led up to the house. It was a large building, rectangular and adorned only with the symbol of fire above the building's only door. Here again were the signs of a fortress prepared for attack. Spear men on either side of the door saluted as the man who'd bought Aragorn led the way up the steps and into the building.
Guards were inside, well armed and attentive. They looked at Aragorn with unconcealed curiosity and malice. Aragorn didn't like the look of the expressions they send each other, the cruel smiles. But he didn't have time to think on this.
The man who now owned Aragorn turned to face him. Those holding him shoved him violently forward. He fell, throwing his hands out break his fall. A heavy boot seized the opportunity to press down on his figures.
"A fitting welcome to my home, son of Arathorn."
Aragorn raised his eyes to look at the man in front of him. He'd only been a boy when he'd seen him last, but it was him. Ackeran. And this time Lord Elrond wouldn't be able to step in for his defence.
"I never thought I'd have you in my grasp again, son of Arathorn," Ackeran said. Aragorn guessed by the fact he used his lineage rather than his name that he didn't know it. Certainly, when Aragorn had seen him last he'd still been called Estel, unaware of his heritage.
"You never had me in the first place."
"Perhaps not. Your precious elves stopped me, but not this time. That elf by your side didn't seem to anxious to help." Aragorn remained silent. If Ackeran learned that the elf was a prince, he'd pay thousands to have him and use him against Mirkwood. Aragorn had never been to Mirkwood and from Elladan and Elrohir's descriptions he didn't want to, but it was still home to elves and a kingdom he couldn't betray without hurting those who'd sheltered him ever since he was a child.
"I will make you suffer for everything your father did to me," Ackeran continued.
"What about what you did to him?" Aragorn snapped without thinking. The anger against this man still filled him. He didn't remember his father, never had the chance to know him, because of this man.
The boot removed itself from his fingers, and a hard kick was delivered to his side, followed by another and another. As he braced himself for the next kick, hands grabbed his shoulders and he was pulled off the floor slightly.
He had time to glimpse something grey and circular when it was pressed around his neck and snapped closed with a click. As the hands released him and he fell to the floor once more, he reached up and touched it. An iron collar was locked around his neck, and his searching fingers found a raised pattern on the front.
The sign of fire.
"You are mine, son of Arathorn," Ackeran said, "that collar will never come off. You will be mine for the rest of your days. Enjoy them."
***
Author's note: I didn't mean for it to be another 'Legolas gets the girl' fic, but I couldn't leave Lenna lying on the ground now, could I?
As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed. It's greatly appreciated, keep it up.