Author's note: Sorry I've been so long updating, school's been getting the best of me. Speaking of school, I'm doing an English project for my A-level on the language of rejection and I need rejection letters. If anyone has one I could use, I'd be extremely grateful if you'd type or preferably scan it in and send it to me (obviously deleting names, addresses and personal details). I'd welcome them on any subject.
If you send them, I wouldn't have to spend quite so long searching for suitable material and might be able to spend more time writing this. (By the way, that's a hint)
***
Legolas hissed in pain as Emerin rubbed something into the cuts on his back. According to Emerin it would quicken healing, but Legolas wished in didn't sting quite so much. His back was burning with pain from the whip welts and the man's hands pressing against them did nothing to help with that.
"Leggy!" Lenna ran into the room, a grin on her face as she almost tripped over the bundle of cloth in her arms. "Look, Leggy!" Legolas wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking at, but he reached out to take the cloth from her. She was beaming with pride as he examined a rather uneven row of stitches fixing a tear.
"Did you do this yourself?" he asked. She nodded, her grin growing wider. "It's very good," he said, and was amazed the top of her head wasn't falling off her smile was now so wide. Legolas was smiling too, her joy contagious.
Then he hissed in pain again as Emerin rubbed more of his concoction into his wounded back. Lenna looked at him in puzzlement.
"What's wrong, Leggy?" she asked.
"The people were nasty to me," he said.
"Weren't you a good boy?" Legolas was sure he could hear Emerin struggling not to laugh behind him, but decided now would not be a good time to take him to task over it.
"No, Lenna, I wasn't a good boy." Lenna tried to see his back, but Emerin held out a hand to stop her.
"No, child, you shouldn't see this. Go put your work away, you can see Leggy later." Lenna nodded reluctantly and then left. Legolas was glad, she was too young to see the mess his back was in.
"You should be more careful," Emerin told him, as he finished what he was doing and handed Legolas a clean shirt, "our mistress is kind to those who serve her well but she has a temper."
"She is not my mistress," Legolas replied, "I served my king and no one else."
"Now you must serve her, or you will suffer far worse than a beating."
"It is very well for you to say that," Legolas told him, "but that's not something that I can do.
"Don't think that I enjoy my life here," Emerin said, "I was taken from my wife and my baby girl four years ago, and don't even know if they're alive."
Legolas looked at Emerin through new eyes. He hadn't thought before that the slaves here might have families, or be suffering as he was. He thought of how he wished to return to his father, and felt a connection he'd never thought possible with a human.
"If I find a way out of here," Legolas said, "I give you my word that I will help you return to your wife and daughter."
"I doubt you will have that chance," Emerin said, "but I thank you anyway." Legolas was unable to say any more to him because Emerin was called away by a softly chiming bell. A signal, he had learned, that his 'mistress' wanted attention.
Legolas followed the man out with his gaze, thinking about how terrible it must be for him. Four years. He imagined being away from his home and family for as long and shuddered at the thought, sending a spasm of pain down his back.
Standing carefully, he made his way across the room in the direction Lenna had taken. The little girl seemed unaware of the danger she was in, yet she must be missing her mother terribly. It had never occurred to Legolas before that humans might have feelings as acute as elves'. He began to wonder what else hadn't occurred to him.
According to Emerin he wouldn't be sent for by his 'mistress' until the next day in the hope that he would learn his lesson. That meant, so he thought, that he would have the rest of the day to recover from his lashes. Unfortunately, the other slaves didn't agree with that.
A bossy, middle-aged woman who had most of the younger slaves in fear of her, shoved Legolas firmly towards a large sink and instructed him to wash dishes. His first thought was one of shame as he wondered what his father would think of this situation. His second was one of amazement as he realised just how many dishes there were to wash. Surely one lady and her slaves couldn't create this much mess?
Half an hour later he had barely made an impact on the huge pile, and was beginning to wonder if the servants at home had to do this much work. After all, there were far more people living in the palace at home. He decided if he got back he'd show them some more courtesy. Normally he barely noticed they were there.
He suddenly realised just what he'd thought. No, it wasn't if he got back. He was going to get home, it was just a matter of time.
***
Aragorn's wounds were beginning to hurt considerably. He looked at the man in front of him, his face a mask of sorrow hiding years of grief. Looking at Ackeran now, he knew he couldn't hurt him. Ackeran had being hoping to drive Aragorn into desperation with torture, hoping that Aragorn would kill him at the first opportunity feeling that it was the only escape.
He'd never expected Aragorn to pity him.
But that's just what Aragorn did. Watching him, Aragorn saw only a man who had been a friend of his father, who had unwittingly led him to his death. The guilt that had been plaguing the man since that day was more than enough punishment.
"Have you got a more comfortable place to talk?" Aragorn asked.
The surprise on Ackeran's face was obvious enough proof that he hadn't been expecting this. "But... then…"
"I don't mean to kill you?" Aragorn finished for him, "No. I don't."
"But… it's what I deserve."
"People don't always get what they deserve. My father didn't." The shame that crossed Ackeran's face almost made Aragorn regret his words. Almost. Pity him though he did, this man was still responsible for his father's death. Lord Elrond had been right about that.
Ackeran got to his feet, and Aragorn made no move to help him do so. He simply followed as Ackeran left the room. A short while later they sat in a much more comfortable room. Aragorn was on a wide arm chair, careful not to lean back.
"What do you plan on doing to me," Aragorn asked, "now that I will not kill you?"
"I don't know," Ackeran replied, "I never thought that this would happen."
"Then I shall tell you what you will do. You will find out who bought the elf I was with, and the child. You will tell me everything you know about where they are held so that I can find them. And then you will continue to live your life and hope that we never meet again." Ackeran nodded.
"I can have someone tend to your wounds," Ackeran said as he stood. It was Aragorn's turn to nod. A short time later he was feeling very much better, his back, side and arm smothered in ointment and bandaged.
Ackeran returned, followed by a slave carrying a large tray of food which he set in front of Aragorn before leaving. Aragorn ate hungrily, without waiting for an invitation, and listened to what Ackeran had to say.
"The elf and child were both bought by Kerinya, a rich and powerful lady in these parts. Her property is well guarded, you would not be able to get in there and bring them out."
"I was trained by elves," Aragorn said, "I will help them. Tell me everything you can of Kerinya."
"She is not evil," Ackeran answered, "but she, like almost all here, does not see slaves as people. She does not take pleasure in another's pain, but she will not hesitate to hurt any slave she feels deserves it. If your friend is as stubborn as all other elves I have known, he will not do well in her household."
"What of her household and lands? How will I get in there?"
"Most of the houses round here have exterior wall, always guarded, and there will be guards on the main entrance as well."
"Any side entrances?"
"I don't know."
"Well, help me find out!"
"I'll do what I can."
"Good. And get someone to take this damn collar off me!"
***
Author's note: Sorry it's such a short chapter: again blame school. Ah well, only another year of that to go before I can start being overwhelmed by university work and the essential socialising.
If you send them, I wouldn't have to spend quite so long searching for suitable material and might be able to spend more time writing this. (By the way, that's a hint)
***
Legolas hissed in pain as Emerin rubbed something into the cuts on his back. According to Emerin it would quicken healing, but Legolas wished in didn't sting quite so much. His back was burning with pain from the whip welts and the man's hands pressing against them did nothing to help with that.
"Leggy!" Lenna ran into the room, a grin on her face as she almost tripped over the bundle of cloth in her arms. "Look, Leggy!" Legolas wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking at, but he reached out to take the cloth from her. She was beaming with pride as he examined a rather uneven row of stitches fixing a tear.
"Did you do this yourself?" he asked. She nodded, her grin growing wider. "It's very good," he said, and was amazed the top of her head wasn't falling off her smile was now so wide. Legolas was smiling too, her joy contagious.
Then he hissed in pain again as Emerin rubbed more of his concoction into his wounded back. Lenna looked at him in puzzlement.
"What's wrong, Leggy?" she asked.
"The people were nasty to me," he said.
"Weren't you a good boy?" Legolas was sure he could hear Emerin struggling not to laugh behind him, but decided now would not be a good time to take him to task over it.
"No, Lenna, I wasn't a good boy." Lenna tried to see his back, but Emerin held out a hand to stop her.
"No, child, you shouldn't see this. Go put your work away, you can see Leggy later." Lenna nodded reluctantly and then left. Legolas was glad, she was too young to see the mess his back was in.
"You should be more careful," Emerin told him, as he finished what he was doing and handed Legolas a clean shirt, "our mistress is kind to those who serve her well but she has a temper."
"She is not my mistress," Legolas replied, "I served my king and no one else."
"Now you must serve her, or you will suffer far worse than a beating."
"It is very well for you to say that," Legolas told him, "but that's not something that I can do.
"Don't think that I enjoy my life here," Emerin said, "I was taken from my wife and my baby girl four years ago, and don't even know if they're alive."
Legolas looked at Emerin through new eyes. He hadn't thought before that the slaves here might have families, or be suffering as he was. He thought of how he wished to return to his father, and felt a connection he'd never thought possible with a human.
"If I find a way out of here," Legolas said, "I give you my word that I will help you return to your wife and daughter."
"I doubt you will have that chance," Emerin said, "but I thank you anyway." Legolas was unable to say any more to him because Emerin was called away by a softly chiming bell. A signal, he had learned, that his 'mistress' wanted attention.
Legolas followed the man out with his gaze, thinking about how terrible it must be for him. Four years. He imagined being away from his home and family for as long and shuddered at the thought, sending a spasm of pain down his back.
Standing carefully, he made his way across the room in the direction Lenna had taken. The little girl seemed unaware of the danger she was in, yet she must be missing her mother terribly. It had never occurred to Legolas before that humans might have feelings as acute as elves'. He began to wonder what else hadn't occurred to him.
According to Emerin he wouldn't be sent for by his 'mistress' until the next day in the hope that he would learn his lesson. That meant, so he thought, that he would have the rest of the day to recover from his lashes. Unfortunately, the other slaves didn't agree with that.
A bossy, middle-aged woman who had most of the younger slaves in fear of her, shoved Legolas firmly towards a large sink and instructed him to wash dishes. His first thought was one of shame as he wondered what his father would think of this situation. His second was one of amazement as he realised just how many dishes there were to wash. Surely one lady and her slaves couldn't create this much mess?
Half an hour later he had barely made an impact on the huge pile, and was beginning to wonder if the servants at home had to do this much work. After all, there were far more people living in the palace at home. He decided if he got back he'd show them some more courtesy. Normally he barely noticed they were there.
He suddenly realised just what he'd thought. No, it wasn't if he got back. He was going to get home, it was just a matter of time.
***
Aragorn's wounds were beginning to hurt considerably. He looked at the man in front of him, his face a mask of sorrow hiding years of grief. Looking at Ackeran now, he knew he couldn't hurt him. Ackeran had being hoping to drive Aragorn into desperation with torture, hoping that Aragorn would kill him at the first opportunity feeling that it was the only escape.
He'd never expected Aragorn to pity him.
But that's just what Aragorn did. Watching him, Aragorn saw only a man who had been a friend of his father, who had unwittingly led him to his death. The guilt that had been plaguing the man since that day was more than enough punishment.
"Have you got a more comfortable place to talk?" Aragorn asked.
The surprise on Ackeran's face was obvious enough proof that he hadn't been expecting this. "But... then…"
"I don't mean to kill you?" Aragorn finished for him, "No. I don't."
"But… it's what I deserve."
"People don't always get what they deserve. My father didn't." The shame that crossed Ackeran's face almost made Aragorn regret his words. Almost. Pity him though he did, this man was still responsible for his father's death. Lord Elrond had been right about that.
Ackeran got to his feet, and Aragorn made no move to help him do so. He simply followed as Ackeran left the room. A short while later they sat in a much more comfortable room. Aragorn was on a wide arm chair, careful not to lean back.
"What do you plan on doing to me," Aragorn asked, "now that I will not kill you?"
"I don't know," Ackeran replied, "I never thought that this would happen."
"Then I shall tell you what you will do. You will find out who bought the elf I was with, and the child. You will tell me everything you know about where they are held so that I can find them. And then you will continue to live your life and hope that we never meet again." Ackeran nodded.
"I can have someone tend to your wounds," Ackeran said as he stood. It was Aragorn's turn to nod. A short time later he was feeling very much better, his back, side and arm smothered in ointment and bandaged.
Ackeran returned, followed by a slave carrying a large tray of food which he set in front of Aragorn before leaving. Aragorn ate hungrily, without waiting for an invitation, and listened to what Ackeran had to say.
"The elf and child were both bought by Kerinya, a rich and powerful lady in these parts. Her property is well guarded, you would not be able to get in there and bring them out."
"I was trained by elves," Aragorn said, "I will help them. Tell me everything you can of Kerinya."
"She is not evil," Ackeran answered, "but she, like almost all here, does not see slaves as people. She does not take pleasure in another's pain, but she will not hesitate to hurt any slave she feels deserves it. If your friend is as stubborn as all other elves I have known, he will not do well in her household."
"What of her household and lands? How will I get in there?"
"Most of the houses round here have exterior wall, always guarded, and there will be guards on the main entrance as well."
"Any side entrances?"
"I don't know."
"Well, help me find out!"
"I'll do what I can."
"Good. And get someone to take this damn collar off me!"
***
Author's note: Sorry it's such a short chapter: again blame school. Ah well, only another year of that to go before I can start being overwhelmed by university work and the essential socialising.