So, all week long, I've got nothing. No plot bunnies, no inspiration from my recently useless muses. Nothing. Then Sunday rolls around and suddenly I'm stuck. Bugger. I don't know what to do. If I don't write something and write something now I'm not going to be able to update tonight and I'll disappoint all my beloved readers.
So I sit down and I'm begging my head... write something. Anything. I don't care, just do it. But I get nothing.
And then... then someone dear to me does something to get me royally pissed off. Like... incredibly, murderously pissed off. And this chapter is the result.
It adds nothing to the story. It furthers no plot lines. It's a filler, and I hate fillers. But this is what I have, so this is what you get. Enjoy.
" Leaves of Glass "
Chapter 9 - Convenience
Avarilas stared at the stone beneath his feet, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his shoulders wilted with exhaustion and a deep sense of utter failure. Booted feet paced back and forth in front of him, their steps hard, angry.
"I entrusted you with his well being." A deep, livid voice reached his ears. "Nearly 3000 years you have been his bodyguard. His only source of protection. And now he is lost to me. Again."
Tears came quickly and unbidden to the Silvan's eyes. He tried to blink them away, begging his betraying body to not let him cry in front of his king. But two silent tears fell anyway, trailing down his strong face, leaving silver lines in their path.
He had let his prince down again.
His long fingers twisted the broken arrow shaft in his hands, threatening to break the thin wood. He could still hear the angry cries of the trees as he had asked them tell him what had happened in that bloodied clearing. He could hear the wretched outrage of the agony that his prince had suffered at the hands of 'evil'. The trees would tell him no more than that he was gone. Gone.
There was so much blood.
Avarilas was pulled from his thoughts by strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a warm embrace.
"Díheno nin, nin ion." King Thranduil said softly, hugging him closely. "Istos sen naegro le sui daer sui Im." ("Forgive me, my son." "I know this pains you as much as I.")
"I'll find him." Avarilas promised into the king's shoulder. And he would keep his promise. He would find his prince. Or die trying.
*
The man that held Legolas prisoner burst through the front of the tent unannounced. He turned on the elf the moment he entered, his eyes blazing, his hands clenched into fists.
"Well, you don't look happy to see me." Legolas said cheekily from his place on the fur-lined bed.
The nightly forays with Strider over the past weeks had done a lot to keep his spirit from crumbling like it had wished the first night he was in the camp. And that had caused him to be significantly more... cocky, than common sense demanded. He was grinning at the man now, sitting cross-legged on the high bed, paper and charcoal in his hands.
Without warning the dark man's fist flew up, connecting with Legolas' elegant cheekbone. The elf was knocked backwards, stunned by the blow, the drawing tools flying from his hands. Before he could react he felt a large hand grip his hair at the back of his skull, pulling upwards and dragging him from the bed. The nerves on his scalp began to scream as he was drug across the floor to the post that held up the center of the tent.
As the pain in his cheek faded and reality slowly crept back into his bewildered mind he began to struggle, all of his countless years of training escaping his head as he twisted and pulled and kicked, panic quickly replacing all sense of arrogance. But the rage in the dark man's body was nearly a visible force, the hand in his hair unwavering, and he soon felt his back connect with the hard post. The breath left his lungs painfully as his newly healed hands were forced above his head and tied to the wooden beam.
He tried to struggle, tried to break the bonds, tried to fight the man and the fear that consumed him. But all he was rewarded with was a harsh blow to the stomach that would have brought him to his knees if he hadn't been held up by the stiff leather bonds. He gasped for breath as his burning lungs begged for air, his eyes glazing over in pain, his body screaming.
Another strike connected with his face and he immediately tasted warm copper in his mouth. A blow landed with an impossible amount of strength on his ribcage and a sharp crack filled his ringing ears. A muffled cry escaped his mouth, blood spraying from his split lips, scattering the man's dark cloak with crimson and leaving hideous red stains on his own porcelain skin.
The man in front of him did not even flinch when the warm liquid hit him, nor did he pause. Rage, terrifying in its burning intensity, poured from his body, washing through the tent, coating Legolas in its thick scent. The elf gagged on his own blood, his arms jerking at the cords that bound him, the rough leather chafing at his pale skin.
Another blow landed on his throbbing cheekbone and he heard another crack. He screamed aloud as the delicate bones shattered under impossible strength. Sickness overwhelmed him as tiny shards of bone tore the tissue of his face and he felt the familiar darkness; and the painful pull of the dark man, keeping him conscious for every agonizing moment.
Another punch connected with his ribs, another crack filled his ears. His knees buckled as the pain washed through him like a river released from its dam. His body fell, leaving nothing but the tight bonds to keep him up, his arms wrenching his ribs, pulling another scream from his lips.
Tears filled his eyes as the pain wrapped his body in a tight hold. He could hardly think, hardly move. He could do nothing to stop the rain of punches that broke him under their unnatural force. But he would not let the tears fall from his eyes. He would die, he swore to the Valar he would die, before he let this man see him cry.
Harsh blows, more forceful and painful as each fell, rained down on the elf's helpless body, breaking, destroying; tanned knuckles bruised with the force.
And throughout the camp the pain-filled cries of the prince of Mirkwood echoed through each tent, wrapped around each living being, broke through the new dawn light like a creature emerged from nightmares. Some of the men shudder in their beds, images too horrible to imagine coursing through their minds, knowing that the screams would last far too long for any mortal man to endure.
One man sat in tormented silence, tears lining his young face as he watched the sun rise on another hopeless day.
*
Legolas' body shook with unbearable pain as an ancient man looked over his broken form. He lay on his bed, blood seeping into the furs from innumerable places on his body. A muffled cry escaped his mouth and he quickly bit his lip, tasting more blood as the old man gently probed his broken ribs. His swollen eyes stared at the lit ceiling of the tent.
"It will take some weeks more before you can carry out your plan now, my lord." Torlin said shakily as he turned slowly away from the elf's broken body, his own stooped frame protesting every small movement. "Though the rejuvenation skills of the Eldar are far beyond that of mortal Man, these injuries are rather... extensive."
The hard, dark eyes of the other man slid over the elf's body, taking in the shaking limbs, the ripped clothes, the dark blood. A sadistic smile crept over his chiseled face. "Do what you can for him. We have the time."
As the dark man turned to leave Torlin said in a quiet, shaking voice, "May I inquire as to how the injuries were caused, my lord?"
The dark man turned back to his potion maker, eying the ancient, bent frame, the shaking hands, and the murky eyes. His own dark eyes narrowed in an arrogance found only in royalty.
"Forgive me, my lord," Torlin said, his eyes falling to the covered ground. "I did not mean to over-step my bounds."
The dark man eyed him a moment longer, then smiled sardonically. "I will forgive you. This time. And I will give you the answer as well. There are rumors going through the camp that there is a plot against me rising among the men. I know them to be false, for no man in my company would be quite so thick as to think something that preposterous would work. But they angered me none the less." He nodded in the direction of the shaking prince. "He was a convenient recipient of my anger."
With a perverse laugh he walked from the tent, casting a glance at the slave that had stood silently by the entrance since he had summoned the old man. Once the occupants of the tent were certain that the man had left and was not coming back the tension left the room. But the pain-filled terror that had seeped into every corner remained.
Strider quickly stepped away from the entrance of the tent, his whole body aching from the tension of holding back the overwhelming urge to kill. An urge that had festered into his heart the moment he heard the first tormented screams filling the campgrounds.
He rushed to the bedside and reached for the elf's hand, wanting him to know he was there, to know he wasn't alone. But he quickly stepped away from the bed, sorrow filling his heart as Legolas pulled away from him touch.
"Caro ú nin." The elf hissed through bloody lips. His eyes finally closed and a shuddering breath left his lungs. Strider didn't know if he should scream or cry. ("Do not [touch] me.")
But he did neither. Instead, after a few shaky breaths, he stepped back to the bed and sat down beside the broken body. "I will not harm you, nin caun." He said softly. (... , my prince.")
Legolas' body shook as he turned to look at the human, his eyelids opening to reveal haunted blue depths. "Iston." He whispered, his broken lips splitting farther, bright red blood sliding down his chin. "Iston." He repeated. Then his eyes slid shut and his body went limp. ("I know.")
Tears slid from Strider's eyes and he did not bother to wipe them away.
To Be Continued...
I promise a better chapter next week.
Until next time!
Adrienne
To my beautiful reviewers -
Deana - Gleh. Cute. I hate cute. lol. Thanks though.
WakingDream - First off, thank you very much for review. I'm glad my story was good enough to entice you to do so. And second, what exactly is a beta reader? I mean, I sorta know, and I hear (well, more like read) about people thanking their beta readers all the time, but I've never really looked into. Care to explain?
MG87 - Well, I'm glad. I'm still a little... I dunno, squicked by it. I'm not into sappy. lol. But I'm glad it turned out alright. And my muses are in serious trouble. They have been absolutely useless lately!
Estel Elven Enchantress - Rendezvous - 'ron-day-voo'. It's French. lol.
ElvenSoul - Surely you jest, my dear. Though your compliment is very well taken, it is far to generous. Published? Me? Never. And yes, it wasn't until about chapter... 6 in "Memories of Ilithien" that I realized the... rather glaringly obvious similarity to the woods of Ithilien. *smacks self* I'm a bit thick sometimes. :)
LegolasLover2003 - So not fair. So very very not fair. That the world should tease us so mercilessly. And are you happy now? I've fixed his hands. *grins*
cherryfaerie - I had no idea you had an account with ff.net. I assumed since you didn't sign in for your reviews that you were an 'anonymous'. And as for Viggo... well, I'll e-mail you a web-addy that has a lot of his work on it. Not only is he a photographer, but he's a painter, a poet, and a musician as well. And he does everything just as amazingly as he acts. And about your question, Torlin needs the Arandant king's blood. Sorry I didn't make that clear. Oh, and by the way, your little sister is absolutely adorable. I should have told you in the e-mail I sent back, but I was in a rush. Sorry if I seemed a little terse.
silvertoekee - The other guys. And I stick to my belief that it is stupid to have 3 day exhibits! Grr!
Elenillor - Holy crap. lol. That's crazy. That was certainly fun to read. Probably one of the best, and most thorough, reviews I've gotten in a long time. Thank you. And no worries on spacing out. It's a common occurrence in my own head, so I completely understand. :)
Coolio02 - Thank you!
Gwyn - lol. On both your modesty and your slashy party-self. And uh... thanks for not voicing your anti-Bush sentiments. No offence, but I myself am rather fond of our current President. *shrugs* Not that I find it wrong that you do not agree. To each his own, as I always say. You go you way and I'll go mine. :)
Elanor8 - You're welcome and thank you!
Cosmic Castaway - Yes. Yes, very nice images indeed. I did rather enjoy writing that part. *grins*
Kit Cloudkicker - Ummm... to be frank with you, your reviews confuse me. *blushes* Am I missing something?
Templa Otmena - 3 days? Uhg! Torture. I once had to go an entire month without our computer. No internet for a month! Can you imagine? It still gives me nightmares. lol. Anyway, thanks for the reassurance on the mushyness. And I hope I didn't bring the mood back down too much. *cackles loudly* Yes! Yes I do! No more mush! Only pain and suffering! *coughs* Sorry. It's 4 o'clock in the morning right now. I need sleep. Bad.
tay-yy - Thank you! And good day to you too.
