Title: Diplomacy Part 8
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own LOTR, the characters, the settings, any of it. I write non-fan based fiction and this story is the product of that line being crossed with my unhealthy fixation with a certain elf. I'm making no money off this, in any way, shape or form, though feedback is better than cheesecake.
Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com
A/N- This story is taking some surprising turns. What does everyone think? Feedback, please! I want to know what you are thinking.
// .. // Indicates thoughts.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He opened his eyes and blinked as the sunlight streamed around him. He sat up slowly, looking around the room, the architecture unknown to him. He pushed himself off the bed and ran a hand down the bed hangings, letting the silk slip through his fingers. He looked around again, raising a hand to his temple. He remembered walking with Rhya, the kiss, and the sudden appearance of his captors.
Within his mind a voice chuckled. //Not exactly a dungeon, is it?// he thought wryly. He crossed the room, his bare feet sinking deep into the plush carpeting. A washbasin stood, warm water held in a pitcher of thin porcelain. Looking down he examined his attire, the loose pants resting low on his hips. He recognized the style, had seen it often on the visiting Quelnassar warriors. Surprisingly comfortable, he decided. Shaking his head he began his morning ritual, moving carefully through the slow, precise movements, seemingly the same as any other day.
He heard a key in the door and decided to ignore it, his muscles tightening with anxiety, his face impassive, movements carefully controlled. Soft footfalls sounded behind him, a familiar spicy aroma filling the air. Bringing his arms slowly to waist height he took a deep breath and turned. A beautiful human maid stood, a silver tray in her hands, piled high with luscious foods. Legolas stared a moment, at both the maid and the food, unsure what to make of the situation.
She bowed low and crossed the room, graceful and silent. As she passed in front of him, he realized the robe she wore was transparent. He felt himself flush as he averted his eyes, fixing his gaze on the pale gray carpet. He heard the tray clink softly as she set it upon the table.
"I am called Rean." She said, the words twisted heavily and strangely accented.
He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes. They were calm and blue, her face framed with pale blonde hair. "My name is Legolas. I am pleased to meet you, Rean." He said, walking towards the waiting food.
She stood silently for a moment, and then bowed again, saying, "I will leave you in peace to enjoy your breakfast." He watched as she exited the room, the door closing quietly. He listened intently, hearing a distinctive click a few seconds after the door swung shut. Locked. He had expected as much.
He sat and stared at the food, his mouth watering as he wondered if it was safe to eat or not. //If he had wanted me dead he wouldn't have carried me all this way, now would he? Could have disposed of me just as easily in the clearing.// Shrugging he began to eat, the spicy food washed down with sweet nectar that he did not recognize. He ate his fill and neatly folded his napkin atop the rest, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.
He crossed to the window and peered out, noting the sharp lines in the architecture of the casing as he did. A large tree rested outside the window, its massive limbs twisted into a perfect spiral. Legolas stared at the perfection of the shape, the absolute accuracy of every angle and knew magic had been used on it. He closed his eyes and listened, something about the scene making him feel uncomfortable and off kilter.
He opened his eyes again and surveyed the tree, which blocked his vision, stared at the trunk, somehow inlaid with silver, the same angular patterns as graced the borders of the room. The wind gusted and blew the tree slightly, a vague rustling reaching his ears. Something niggled in the back of his mind and suddenly he understood the cause of his unease. In all the time he had been awake, he had heard not a single sound of nature. Not the chirping of a cricket of the song of a bird. Nothing had disturbed the silence of the world outside.
Something within him recoiled at the silence and he backed away from the window. Crossing to the bed, feeling suddenly very ill, he parted the silken drapes and lay on the cool satin bedding. He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the silence around him, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep as the sun lowered in the sky.
He never heard the door creak slowly open, or hear the soft foot falls of the large men, their faces covered, as they crept into the room, surrounding the bed upon which the oblivious elf rested. A female crept in behind them, her eyes lingering on the prone form as she smiled wickedly. She reached into a sack removed something, the metal catching the light for the barest instant before she whispered "Now!"
The masked intruders fell upon Legolas, neatly pinning his arms behind him, pressing his face into the pillows beneath him. He woke swiftly, trying desperately to free himself from the massive onslaught. Sorely outnumbered, he stopped thrashing, barely able to breathe under the sheer crushing weight of the masked men atop him.
He opened the eye that was not buried in the cushion and stared wildly around, his breath coming in small, harsh gasps. A woman's face came into view, her very human features angular and cold. He watched as she lifted a hand and stroked his cheek, softly, a cruel smile on her lips.
"You fought well, child." she said, her voice sharp, her accent heavy.
"I am no child." He said, forcing the words to sound steady and proud despite his predicament.
She smiled coldly and slapped him hard across the face, her eyes blazing. He expected harsh words, but instead the hand pressing his face to the pillows switched its grip, grasping a handful of hair and pulling his face up, pain flaring in his neck though his face remained passive. Suddenly he felt cold steel against his throat, the sharp edge of a blade nicking below his jaw.
He watched her face light with glee, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, I see you understand how precarious your position. I suggest you remain still, child." His eyes narrowed dangerously but he remained absolutely still as she ran a hand down his throat.
"Lovely." She whispered, her thin lips splitting to show her perfect white teeth. He shuddered slightly at the implication in her voice. He kept his face impassive, his body still as she removed her hand and moved from his view. He felt coldness surround his neck and listened as she whispered spidery words of magic. Pain seared his throat but he held his face steady, the only show of his agony a slight narrowing of his azure eyes.
Her face again moved into his vision and he met her eyes boldly. She chuckled softly and ran a finger down his jaw. She nodded her head and his attackers released him, quickly moving back from the bed. He sat up slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, fury swirling within him. She cocked her head slightly, her eyes challenging him.
Heedless of the burly men surrounding him, paying no mind to his lack of weapon, he bunched his muscles and launched himself at her, wanting only to wipe the smug look off of her face. Suddenly his every muscle snapped taut as fire raced through him, wave after searing wave of agony twisting his body. His throat closed and he fought to breathe, his eyes bulging and his fingers clawing futily at his blocked windpipe.
Seconds marched by and he felt the world graying as he began to lose consciousness. Exasperated she kicked him hard in the ribs and said, "Stop thinking of violence towards me, child. The pain will vanish, I assure you."
Closing his eyes he tried to focus on something, anything, to calm the rage he was feeling. An image of startlingly blue eyes and dark hair swirled through his mind and he was able to release the anger he held. Almost immediately the pain ceased and he pulled a whooping breath into his aching lungs.
Opening his eyes he saw her smirking at him, gloating over her victory. Anger surged to the fore again and the agony washed over him in unrelenting waves. Again he sought solace in his memories of her, the taste of her flesh, the warmth of her body against his. Finally he opened his eyes and saw the woman kneeling next to him, a knowing smile on her face.
She ran a finger down his jaw and he clenched it against her unwanted touch. She felt the muscles tighten beneath her finger and smiled even more broadly. She leaned so her lips brushed the point of his ear and whispered sensuously, "Oh it will be delicious to break you."
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own LOTR, the characters, the settings, any of it. I write non-fan based fiction and this story is the product of that line being crossed with my unhealthy fixation with a certain elf. I'm making no money off this, in any way, shape or form, though feedback is better than cheesecake.
Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com
A/N- This story is taking some surprising turns. What does everyone think? Feedback, please! I want to know what you are thinking.
// .. // Indicates thoughts.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He opened his eyes and blinked as the sunlight streamed around him. He sat up slowly, looking around the room, the architecture unknown to him. He pushed himself off the bed and ran a hand down the bed hangings, letting the silk slip through his fingers. He looked around again, raising a hand to his temple. He remembered walking with Rhya, the kiss, and the sudden appearance of his captors.
Within his mind a voice chuckled. //Not exactly a dungeon, is it?// he thought wryly. He crossed the room, his bare feet sinking deep into the plush carpeting. A washbasin stood, warm water held in a pitcher of thin porcelain. Looking down he examined his attire, the loose pants resting low on his hips. He recognized the style, had seen it often on the visiting Quelnassar warriors. Surprisingly comfortable, he decided. Shaking his head he began his morning ritual, moving carefully through the slow, precise movements, seemingly the same as any other day.
He heard a key in the door and decided to ignore it, his muscles tightening with anxiety, his face impassive, movements carefully controlled. Soft footfalls sounded behind him, a familiar spicy aroma filling the air. Bringing his arms slowly to waist height he took a deep breath and turned. A beautiful human maid stood, a silver tray in her hands, piled high with luscious foods. Legolas stared a moment, at both the maid and the food, unsure what to make of the situation.
She bowed low and crossed the room, graceful and silent. As she passed in front of him, he realized the robe she wore was transparent. He felt himself flush as he averted his eyes, fixing his gaze on the pale gray carpet. He heard the tray clink softly as she set it upon the table.
"I am called Rean." She said, the words twisted heavily and strangely accented.
He looked up, forcing himself to meet her eyes. They were calm and blue, her face framed with pale blonde hair. "My name is Legolas. I am pleased to meet you, Rean." He said, walking towards the waiting food.
She stood silently for a moment, and then bowed again, saying, "I will leave you in peace to enjoy your breakfast." He watched as she exited the room, the door closing quietly. He listened intently, hearing a distinctive click a few seconds after the door swung shut. Locked. He had expected as much.
He sat and stared at the food, his mouth watering as he wondered if it was safe to eat or not. //If he had wanted me dead he wouldn't have carried me all this way, now would he? Could have disposed of me just as easily in the clearing.// Shrugging he began to eat, the spicy food washed down with sweet nectar that he did not recognize. He ate his fill and neatly folded his napkin atop the rest, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.
He crossed to the window and peered out, noting the sharp lines in the architecture of the casing as he did. A large tree rested outside the window, its massive limbs twisted into a perfect spiral. Legolas stared at the perfection of the shape, the absolute accuracy of every angle and knew magic had been used on it. He closed his eyes and listened, something about the scene making him feel uncomfortable and off kilter.
He opened his eyes again and surveyed the tree, which blocked his vision, stared at the trunk, somehow inlaid with silver, the same angular patterns as graced the borders of the room. The wind gusted and blew the tree slightly, a vague rustling reaching his ears. Something niggled in the back of his mind and suddenly he understood the cause of his unease. In all the time he had been awake, he had heard not a single sound of nature. Not the chirping of a cricket of the song of a bird. Nothing had disturbed the silence of the world outside.
Something within him recoiled at the silence and he backed away from the window. Crossing to the bed, feeling suddenly very ill, he parted the silken drapes and lay on the cool satin bedding. He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the silence around him, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep as the sun lowered in the sky.
He never heard the door creak slowly open, or hear the soft foot falls of the large men, their faces covered, as they crept into the room, surrounding the bed upon which the oblivious elf rested. A female crept in behind them, her eyes lingering on the prone form as she smiled wickedly. She reached into a sack removed something, the metal catching the light for the barest instant before she whispered "Now!"
The masked intruders fell upon Legolas, neatly pinning his arms behind him, pressing his face into the pillows beneath him. He woke swiftly, trying desperately to free himself from the massive onslaught. Sorely outnumbered, he stopped thrashing, barely able to breathe under the sheer crushing weight of the masked men atop him.
He opened the eye that was not buried in the cushion and stared wildly around, his breath coming in small, harsh gasps. A woman's face came into view, her very human features angular and cold. He watched as she lifted a hand and stroked his cheek, softly, a cruel smile on her lips.
"You fought well, child." she said, her voice sharp, her accent heavy.
"I am no child." He said, forcing the words to sound steady and proud despite his predicament.
She smiled coldly and slapped him hard across the face, her eyes blazing. He expected harsh words, but instead the hand pressing his face to the pillows switched its grip, grasping a handful of hair and pulling his face up, pain flaring in his neck though his face remained passive. Suddenly he felt cold steel against his throat, the sharp edge of a blade nicking below his jaw.
He watched her face light with glee, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, I see you understand how precarious your position. I suggest you remain still, child." His eyes narrowed dangerously but he remained absolutely still as she ran a hand down his throat.
"Lovely." She whispered, her thin lips splitting to show her perfect white teeth. He shuddered slightly at the implication in her voice. He kept his face impassive, his body still as she removed her hand and moved from his view. He felt coldness surround his neck and listened as she whispered spidery words of magic. Pain seared his throat but he held his face steady, the only show of his agony a slight narrowing of his azure eyes.
Her face again moved into his vision and he met her eyes boldly. She chuckled softly and ran a finger down his jaw. She nodded her head and his attackers released him, quickly moving back from the bed. He sat up slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, fury swirling within him. She cocked her head slightly, her eyes challenging him.
Heedless of the burly men surrounding him, paying no mind to his lack of weapon, he bunched his muscles and launched himself at her, wanting only to wipe the smug look off of her face. Suddenly his every muscle snapped taut as fire raced through him, wave after searing wave of agony twisting his body. His throat closed and he fought to breathe, his eyes bulging and his fingers clawing futily at his blocked windpipe.
Seconds marched by and he felt the world graying as he began to lose consciousness. Exasperated she kicked him hard in the ribs and said, "Stop thinking of violence towards me, child. The pain will vanish, I assure you."
Closing his eyes he tried to focus on something, anything, to calm the rage he was feeling. An image of startlingly blue eyes and dark hair swirled through his mind and he was able to release the anger he held. Almost immediately the pain ceased and he pulled a whooping breath into his aching lungs.
Opening his eyes he saw her smirking at him, gloating over her victory. Anger surged to the fore again and the agony washed over him in unrelenting waves. Again he sought solace in his memories of her, the taste of her flesh, the warmth of her body against his. Finally he opened his eyes and saw the woman kneeling next to him, a knowing smile on her face.
She ran a finger down his jaw and he clenched it against her unwanted touch. She felt the muscles tighten beneath her finger and smiled even more broadly. She leaned so her lips brushed the point of his ear and whispered sensuously, "Oh it will be delicious to break you."