Deep Inside: Intercontinental Salvation

by Eruanna

WARNING Physcho story ahead! Okay, Part two of my fabulous Deep Inside trilogy. Guessing from that there will be another one but this is just the second bit. Please read I'm begging you! And review, if that's not too much.

2. The Cell

Author's note: Hi again, I'm back with part two of my 'wonderful' story. I'm writing this just as I've posted the first half, so if any nice – nice? What kind of word is that? – Reviews have been sent I thankyou. If not then I plead that you give this chapter a second chance. As the first half was written staggered over three years, (In between school holidays), then I hope the quality of my writing and my vocabulary has improved since then. If not, let me know and I can give this up before I make a further fool of my self by putting up another chapter. So read and review, and I hope, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Obviously everything Lord of the Ring-ish I owe to the brilliant J.R.R Tolkein. The places and characters in this story belong to him and maybe the basis for this mini novel. I say this as the lack of depth into Legolas' profile in the L.O.T.R books have opened many paths and doors for my imagination to run havoc in. Before I offend anyone I should really get on with the story huh? Okay.

Deep inside – Intercontinental Salvation

PART TWO

Chapter One – The Cell

Chapter Two – Lüithiel's Proposal

Chapter Three – Pain and Punishment

Chapter Four – Memories

Chapter Five – A Favour in Debt

Chapter Six – Ignorance

Chapter Seven – Crimson Disrepute

Chapter Eight – Invalid Dementia

Chapter One The Cell

Moonlight shafted through iron bars cast in the stone. It bathed the bricks in a soothing light and made them, if possible, a little lonelier than before. A slow decaying drip of water could be heard dripping down the walls of the cell. It glistened over a rooting trail of bright copper rust and mint green mould. Despite the tedious drip, drip of the cut away pipe work, the occasional squeak of a rat could be heard. Their red eyes gleamed menacingly in the harrowing darkness and they scurried carrying whispers of a silent movement. The fact the high pitched squeaking could be heard, made reference to the huddled form slouched in the corner.

The metal eyehole in the door snapped open. It scraped, till two ebony orbs glittered maliciously in their sockets. The door opened. It was given a sharp kick to announce the arrival of the towering Drow. The oak shuddered in protest, as it hadn't been used for years. The silvery light that had flooded in was blocked in the shadowy profile of another Drow. The first man turned his head to grin madly at the second. The insane smile was returned and the man rested against the doorframe he was blocking. He folded his arms in a bored lazy way and swung a set of corroding keys around his spindly fingers.

The first Drow crouched down to the cobbled floor. He unfolded each finger onto the stone and crawled towards the huddled form that lay broken against the east wall. His eyes burned in his head like deep cast onyxes. The lust contorted his face; each breath was a shudder of wanting. The Drow reached the body. The alabaster spider–like fingers crawled up one of the arms and reached a lock of shining golden hair. It was the colour of freshly harvested straw, but lay peacefully over the shoulder it was covering, holding a great elegance that it's finder's couldn't have achieved. The fingers laced through it until they reached a point several inches away from the scalp. The flaxen strands were condensed in thick scarlet blood. It soaked the hair around it holding it close to the head. The fingertips stroked the wounds tenderly then perusing to penetrate them violently, gouging nails deep, coaxing oozes of deep ruby liquid over the Drow's skin.

"Daeron!" The Drow in the doorway hissed. "That's enough."

Daeron looked up through the bloody fingers, the crimson liquid dripping on the slate below. A pink tongue protruded from his lips and licked the blood from his fingers. It stained it and ran down his chin. A ghastly contrast to his egg shell complexion. The Drow's eyes snapped back to his companion and in a quick action he lashed out at the unconscious body, so that it rolled over to face the two men.

Daeron recoiled and jumped back, cradling his painted fingers he began to stand again. Both Drows looked down onto the body below them and surveyed from a distance.

"Your sister Caranthir?" Daeron spoke.

"What about her?" The Drow replied silkily.

"Wasn't she supposed to marry this scum?" Daeron continued.

"Yes." Caranthir's eyes hardened. "She likes little games. I expect she'll be back for him soon."

There was a pregnant pause, which both men were lost in their own insane musings.

"After Father has finished with him..." Caranthir finished with a sordid smile.

Both Drows left the cell and slammed the door shut. A horrible silence filled the space between the walls. An eerie breeze swept the chamber through the iron bars. A finger twitched in the huddle of robes in the corner. The prince stirred.

A sharp pain seered though Legolas' head. All of his limbs felt heavy and the uncontrollable weakness was pulling him down. The elf groaned, his vocal chords were the only part of him that felt active, and yet he felt hoarse and needed water to sustain him. His complexion was more pallid than usual and out bursts of black spotted his skin. His high cheekbones were clouded with bruises and a line followed up to his brow. Reaching up, his face felt tender. The sharp pain that coursed through his skull was unbearable. Legolas searched through the hair around his left ear. He was surprised to feel moisture on his fingertips. He wiped them on the clothes he was wearing. From what he could tell, the fabric enclosed around his body was the wedding silk he could last remember being in. The memory took over him for a moment and a great confusion swept over him. It was quite apparent to him that he was in a Prison cell, but where exactly he wasn't quite so sure. There were two possibilities: either Thranduil had decided the shame of ruining his own wedding was a good enough reason to throw him back in a cell again. Or, Almiè had indeed succeeded in taking over the realm of Mirkwood and that he was captive in the prisons of Lüithien. Before he had time to decide which place that he was in the Prince passed out with the stress of it all.

Chapter two

Lüithiel's Proposal

Legolas awoke to find himself being hauled up by two men. It was quite obvious that they weren't bothered with his welfare as they dragged his heavy limbs upwards.

"Ah. His Royal Highness has honoured us with his presence once again."

The Prince slowly lifted his head to search for the speaker. The silky whisper had seemed almost familiar; the daunting sarcasm was noted in it. Legolas breathed heavily through his mouth with some difficulty. Crimson blood spotted the floor below him. It dripped in rhythm. Splashing on the cobbles below. A pair of feet encased in black boots stood behind it and ground against the grit. The prince followed the figure above him. His wary eyes tracing the lines up navy and silver robes. His breath shuddered as he met the cold, cruel face of king Lüithiel. His alabaster complexion shone through the dark of the cell and the expression of deepest repulsion was quite clear. Lüithiel's lip curled as he looked down on his prisoner. Legolas noticed that the blood was dripping a distance away from his face, running down a set of spider like fingers. They were motionless, in a bored fashion but he watched them regardless.

The two men had given up in their attempts to pull the Prince up. They instead had left him on all fours, his shoulders hunched, trying to support his head. Not that Legolas wasn't bleeding; he just wasn't able to see that a large wound was condensing on his temple.

"Really now. There's no need to bow to me Legolas, you're here as my guest." Lüithiel mocked.

The men hooked him under his arms and heaved him up. Unwillingly most of his support was indeed on them as he was finding the use of his legs extremely difficult. Shaking uncontrollably, Lüithiel laughed as they dragged him, his feet catching on the stone below. Stretching out his arms the men supported him on a bough of rotting oak that held up the wall structure. It jutted out of the stone, and was uncomfortable. Holes behind it made it able to tie Legolas' arms to the frame. The rope stung on his skin and burned, as it was knotted tighter, sounding painful cracks into the air. The Prince's body hung from the heavy bough, his head rolled onto his chest in pain as the ligaments in his forceps tightened. Lüithiel watched his brow furrowed in hatred, and his eyes sharp, still in the round shouldered position he was mastering.

He muttered to the men in a strange language to go. They didn't hang around, seeming quite glad to get out. The King drew up to his prisoner. His face inches away from him. Legolas challenged him, staring contemptuously through his waterfall of soft flaxen hair.

"Do you know how long you've soiled the air of this stinking cell?" Lüithiel whispered slowly.

The Prince merely continued to stare with as much hostility as he could muster.

"Three weeks." The Drow King continued. Spitting out his words in spasms of dislike. "Oh don't worry, darling daddy has made no attempt to rescue his little baby."

The elf's face contorted.

"Hit a soft spot did I? Indeed, I thought I might. I'm glad we understand one another Legolas. You see I saved you for a little while. You're quite safe in here. In fact no – one even knows you exist do they?"

Legolas' eyes fell to the floor.

"Yes, no – one cares for poor little Prince while he rots away in a nasty King's prison." Lüithiel Laughed madly walking to the window. "Thranduil was a fool. He hasn't seen your potential. Not like I have. I think he might be a little disappointed that I would've got their first. He was always like that. I know you'll agree. Ignorant, self-centred, stupid? Sound familiar?"

He turned to the Prince in anticipation of his answer. The elf didn't speak refusing to give him the satisfaction. He continued to hold his gaze. Secretly he did agree of course.

"Mm, I thought so." The King said with a sordid smile. He walked back to his prisoner quickly, his robes furrowing out behind him. He brought his face close again to his companion's. "Didn't get on with Daddy did we?" Lüithiel coaxed. "I think we have more in common than you seem to think."

The elf replied suddenly, his voice hoarse with thirst and pain.

"That's where you're wrong. You've overlooked that he knew I hated him." He spat at the Drow.

"Tut, tut. Not very clever are we?" Lüithiel shook his head.

Legolas smiled. "That's what he would've said."

"What I mean is you're incorrect. He was just spiteful. I wouldn't be so vindictive." Lüithiel smiled this time.

The archer made a sound of disagreement in his throat.

"Don't be disrespectful." The Drow spat. Lüithiel's clenched fist lashed out into Legolas' stomach. The Prince made a grunt of pain. The King composed himself and began again. "Now, where were we?"

"You see, you're the clever one because of you're point exactly. My plan is more effective because Thranduil thinks that I do like him. Not that it makes any difference, he would've treated you like something on the bottom of his shoe anyway." Lüithiel made a look of mock kindness. "Shame he never told you why."

"I won't discuss this with you." Legolas uttered bitterly.

"No I didn't expect you'd want to. That's his fault. His stupidity. Mind you that's his downfall, because conveniently for me it's perfected you." Lüithiel proceeded.

"How so you can try and hurt me through pathetic mind games." The prince replied.

"Don't be so cynical Legolas, I won't try. I can. I would crush you like an insect."

"Go on then." The Prince challenged his gaze never faltering.

"Don't wish it upon yourself. You should be careful, else you'll get into a lot of trouble here." Lüithiel advised. "I wasn't going to wait for you to ask me." He whispered getting closer to the elf's ear.

"So why are you here?" Legolas asked, his voice shaking with anger.

Lüithiel sighed, "Oh, I just wanted to know how objectionable you were." He said in a loud, bored tone. "Now I know you're not at all then it'll make it a lot easier for me." The King stood back, surveying him. He paced the dingy cell. "I'm going to set you a few little tasks. Challenges, I'd like to call them. The longer you last before cracking up the more useful you'll be to me."

"I'll die before I become one of you." Legolas shouted defiantly.

Lüithiel's face-hardened. "We'll see then won't we. Don't forget Legolas, I said you had potential. You'd be very strong, I can tell."

The King then left the cell, slamming the heavy door behind him.

Legolas stood supporting his weight shakily on both legs and breathing heavily through his nose. After a while despair began to set in. His arms felt that they were splitting at the joints, unable to move he was restricted to the stiff oak pressing along his back. The ropes were creating blistering sores on his wrists as he tried to writhe free. Lüithiel had put him in the most uncomfortable position possible and after many hours all the Prince could do was hang his body forward. His shoulders and torso collapsing under the weight he had to hold. His arms seemed to be tearing off of everything else and dull shooting across his brow added to searing pain coursing through his body. The prince closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't rest but to try and forget where he was. Rain started to thrash down outside, throwing itself through the iron bars and spraying onto the cobbles below. The wind screamed, to add to everything else, running through the chamber, sweeping it with an unbearable chill.

Chapter Three

Pain and Punishment

After what he could tell was about four days, Legolas started to feel nothing anymore. The pain had almost become a bodily function of itself and he shut it all out. The prince had been left after the confrontation of his keeper. It seemed as if King Lüithiel had completely forgotten that he was there. Not that he minded that much, but almost longed for something to happen. The waiting was unbearable. These silent thoughts carried on until finally, at night they were satisfied.

They quite suddenly clicked open. It was done a little less dramatically than Lüithiel had, and was carefully closed with a shift of the lock. The dark concealed the cloaked stranger. Legolas made an assumption that the figure was strangely female. The build was slight and a lot shorter than the people who had visited him before to hastily shove water and vile tasting food down his throat were. He watched as the figure drifted to brackets that were slotted onto the walls. She lit small torches with the one she was carrying. Every movement was slow and drawn out. Then she glided towards him, after the chamber was sufficiently lit. The golden light was fulfilling and made The elven archer feel so much warmer and content. The woman set down the torch on the floor, which quickly went out due to the flooding of the cell. She removed her hood and stood back.

Princess Almiè's eyes stared at him. Her black orbs flitted up and down surveying the damage. A strange light filled them and she watched his beautiful, broken body, fragile in its frame. A pitiful expression constrained her face. The Prince lifted his head with the remaining strength he had. His emerald eyes looked through the swelling of his bruised face. Dark reddish shadows were cast beneath them, showing the exhaustion that overruled his body. His mouth hung open in a look of hopelessness, his lips themselves pale and drained but for the crusting scabs, that marked the cuts before. His breath escaped dry and rattling expressing the pain his lungs were suffering under the weight of body. Legolas' physique alone hunched over forwards, his arms bearing his mass. Observing them she noticed that the strains of this were quite apparent. The ropes that held him to the wall frame cut deep into his skin. Burning the flesh around his wrists as he had struggled. She imagined with the smallest bursts of satisfaction that the pain was controlling him quite ably.

Almiè reached into the vast robes of velvet she was wearing. She approached the Prince and placed and ivory hand on his face. He flinched with surprise and pain and watched the knife glittering venomously in the firelight. The Princess brought it up to his torso and further to his neckline. She stopped at the collar and hooked it underneath the first button of the tunic. There was a popping sound as it fell to the stone floor and rolled in circles. Following the finely finished hem with the blade tip she snapped of the buttons and condemned them to the cobbles. Them hooks sprung back when they were released unveiling a v– shape strip of his milky skin. When she past the breastbone Almiè shifted her eyes up to his in a seductive way. Like a moth to a flame he got lost in them, drowning in the endless oceans that seemed to engulf him. The beautiful Princess continued to cut through the threads holding the fine tunic together. As she reached his navel the hem had converted into the belt-line of fabric. She smiled a little madly and with a sharp twist of the blade tore through the material quickly downwards and dropped it. Coming round the Prince breathed with a sigh of relief as she had done so and closed his eyes. Almiè pulled away the shirt part that had covered his torso. Impressive blooms of bruising had exploded over his chest and above his abdomen. The Princess moved closer to him, placing her hands either side of his face as he stood motionless, quite constricted to the wood behind him. Suddenly Legolas felt faint; a strangling need in his throat was taking over his head and starving him of energy. Her beauty consumed him like it had before and how weak he felt with her confused him. Almiè merely looked at him, surveying his face. With her fingers she traced the lines from his brow. Running past the high cheekbones, visible under his stretched pallid skin. They followed to his parched lips, stroking the surface of them back and forth. He stared at her helplessly. When her thumb was left on them she pulled down off of his chin.

Almiè's hand lodged behind his neck and she tilted her head. The Prince felt enveloped in her as she kissed him tenderly. She coaxed him to respond to her, evoking all his senses that felt so powerless against her. For a reason he couldn't explain he wanted her. She placed butterfly kisses across his jaw and down his neck. She massaged his chest with her lips and breathed against his skin. In a convulsion of realisation the Drow drew away and stood up, facing him.

"You shouldn't make me do that." She whispered in her silky tones, her eyes wide and shining. "I didn't" The shaking Prince replied placidly.

The Princess turned her head.

"The quicker you give in the quicker it'll be over. That's all my father wants." She said with a forlorn frown.

"Why should I? Is this just one your games to break me down." The elf spat, defiance controlling him.

"If it is it's working, is it not?" She looked back at him.

The Prince lowered his head. "No."

Almiè gave him an unbelieving expression.

"Well that's alright then. It didn't look to me as if you were enjoying it all." She glowered.

Legolas stared at her going slightly pink.

"Well you'd be right then." He muttered.

"I don't think you believe that do you?" Almiè asked more seriously than before. "Why do you care?" the Prince posed a question for her to answer.

"I don't know, I find you interesting. Like my father does. He seems quite taken." She giggled.

"Why can't he just kill me now? If he's so taken. Make a big exhibition of it; I don't know a public event. I'm sure the people of Lüithien would like to drink wouldn't they? You can have a feast – to feed your people." Legolas shouted at her.

"There's no need to yell. No – one's going hear you apart from me. If you believe in the living dead then there are some skeletons in the cell next to you, I'm sure they'd say hello if you called." Almiè mocked.

Legolas' face-hardened at her.

"Don't look like that." She continued. "I don't want you to hate me."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." The prince muttered through his teeth.

"Because I just kissed you." She replied.

"I didn't ask you to." He moaned to the floor.

"Exactly." Almiè spoke, her gaze fixed on him. "I don't think you understand. We would've killed you already if that's what we wanted."

"Well that's what I thought. You don't usually waste time sucking people dry." He spat at her.

Almiè had a look of sorrow on her face. As if the words he had said had been shouted and were echoing in her head. She gazed up at him, tears in her azure eyes.

"Please understand." She pleaded. "We have to live. Before you say, yes I know some take it too far. A Drow's reputation exceeds it. Many of us were born into what we are."

"Many of you kill for fun. Don't argue because I've seen more than you think. I've seen children's throats being cut while they sleep, men being slaughtered in their villages. And the best part is that they're left to bleed. They're not part of some cull for food. If you don't believe what happens outside of these walls then I think you're disillusioned too." The Prince retorted, emotion cutting into his voice.

"When you are in an army you see terrible things. What did you expect Legolas?" Almiè replied.

"I didn't expect you to deny everything I know."

"Being a Drow is a punishment." Almiè whispered.

The Prince stared in confusion. "You look like you enjoy it." He said his eyes boring into her.

"Oh, I do try to." She started to get angry. She lifted the sleeve of the robes she was wearing. Many cuts scarred her skin, burning into her ashen complexion crimson red. The gashes were everywhere and looked like they were being bitten into.

"I have to do this, to feed off myself to feel happy with what I am." She shouted. "I hate it, who likes having to hurt themselves. But it's necessary. It stops me hurting your precious people so be thankful I do."

Suddenly she looked drained and shocked at herself. The sleeve fell back down her arm.

"I'm sorry." Legolas croaked.

He looked at her with pity, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"What do you want from me? Why did you come?" he asked.

The Princess shrugged and smiled.

"I don't know. To say sorry, for hurting you. For someone to talk to." She whispered.

"They're plenty of people you could talk to." He told her.

She looked at him. "Not that would understand. See, you know. You know what it feels like, to feel lonely. Don't you? I can see it. Right there at the back of your eyes. You don't say, you don't tell anyone. Not about what happened." The Prince flinched. "No – one would understand. Your sister didn't. She rejects you because she can't help, not that she hasn't tried. She feels sick at what she saw through that doorframe. She's selfish and she'd rather protect herself than you by going against her father's will."

"Shut up." The Prince moaned, "You don't know anything."

"But I do, it's part of the Drow nature to be able to see. Right through the outside. You were particularly easy to see, you're screaming for someone to notice you. Because you feel so much conflict. I swear I understand more than you think." She soothed.

"You don't understand, you never will. What do you want from me? You won't help." He shouted at her.

Almiè took her leave drifting towards the door.

"I said it was easy to love you. People never saw through, I just thought it was what you wanted. I'll know I was wrong now."

She shut the door behind her and left. Legolas felt empty inside and weak. He was surprised that she was so human inside. But she'd be bitter now. It had opened a side to the Drow nation that he hadn't seen before. He wondered if there were more like her and how many. She had been wrong to think she understood, but he was terrified at how much she had said she knew.

Chapter Four

Memories

It was a while before anything happened again. The elf had more than hoped that Lüithiel had given up on tormenting him, but he had thought that the waiting was part of the game.

He took to staring out of the bars, the only link to the outside world he had. The weather was always harshly cold and cruel. There hadn't been a day when it hadn't rained. The sky was a wash of dire greyish fog, swirling in the downpours and the swift wind that howled in protest every day. In the distance there was a crippled tree, bent over from its surroundings. Around it was an endless moor of scrub-land, A green and muddy mess of countryside. No wildlife inhabited it at all; in fact the Prince was quite inclined to think that he was the only thing that was alive in at least a mile radius of where he was. He raised his eyebrows at the buttons on the floor and their absence on his torn tunic that was making him shiver so. The torches that had been previously lit, had burned themselves out and were left a charred and black mess of charcoal.

"Thanks a lot Almiè." He muttered to himself, as the cold started to set into him again.

"That's the first sign of madness you know, talkin' to yourself." A voice wheezed at him through the doorway.

The prince rolled his eyes. The door clicked open and the porter shuffled in. His greasy black hair hung by his face, lank and matted. His skin was sallow and slightly jaundice and looked as if it was sinking into his face. Either that or he had been living far too long.

The porter was carrying a tray in which a large lump of discoloured mush sat on. It was a rather pathetic attempt at a meal.

"There ya go." He wheezed throwing the tray on the floor. "Don' it look lavly."

"Mm, so beautifully presented." The elf replied bitterly.

"Well, it was a bit 'ard to make look edible arfta the dawgs at taken wha' they wanted." The Porter said with satisfaction at the repulsed look at the prisoner's face.

"I've bin told ta make sure ya eat it awl up, like a good boy." the porter stood back looking at him with anticipation.

"Oh, I would. I mean its such a shame as it does look so appetising, but my arms seem to be a little tied up!" Legolas had shouted the last bit.

"Now don't be unfair to the Porter." A new voice spoke. "You can go." He added turning to the old man.

The Prince recognised the Drow standing before him as Caranthir. He had been there trying to wake him up as he had pretended to be unconscious.

"Shut the door!" The Drow snapped at the old man as he returned to click it shut.

Caranthir stared at the elf with the greatest dislike.

"I don't think that the King would be happy if he knew you were disrespecting the staff in this establishment."

"I wasn't." Legolas replied.

"You like sarcasm don't you, your highness?" Caranthir asked silkily, his black eyes narrowing threateningly. "It seems that a little bit of discipline is in order. Just to set you straight. Do you know who I am?"

"No." The Prince replied, his gaze fixed on the Drow's.

"I am Prince Regent and Captain of Lüithien. I exercise as much power as my father does, so I suggest you watch what you do and say." He spat.

"I'm sure your father wouldn't want to hear that you think you're as good as him." Legolas said carefully. "Ah, I'm decided. Father said to break you in slowly but I don't like you. Which bones would you like snapped first?" Caranthir's voice shook with excitement as he drew up to his prey.

The Captain unsheathed a blade at his hilt. Legolas flinched as he moved sharply to his skin. Caranthir cut the bonds that held his right wrist to the oak. Half the Prince's body collapsed, not used to the weight of its own mass. The sharp ache of his ligaments tore through his shoulder. As the other knot was cut the Prince fell to the floor. The disuse of his arms was more painful now that they were free. It felt as if the whole of his shoulders was broken or severely bruised and the pain of moving was unbearable. Legolas screwed his face up.

"Get up." The Drow shouted.

He kicked him viciously in the side.

"I'd better not have to repeat myself." The Prince continued to shout his face in paroxysms of rage.

The archer struggled to do what he was told. His legs were failing him as all his strength was drained in exchange of the pain. It took a while, but with support of the wall he managed to lift himself up, while Caranthir stood and watched infuriated.

"Come in." He called.

Legolas was surprised to learn that people had been waiting outside. More Drows filed in carrying a small table and a hammer. He furrowed his brow as the last Drow; a small boy brought in a chair. He bowed as he set it down.

"Why thankyou Dagnir." Caranthir said to the child as he left the room with a secret smile. "Sit!" The Drow commanded to his prisoner, who thought it was better if he did what he was told.

The men lined the sides of the walls. Dark looks overshadowed their faces as they watched the enemy draw up to the table.

"Hold him down." Caranthir said with ecstasy playing on his face.

The men were larger and more muscular than the slight, straggly ones Legolas had seen before working in Lüithien. They had no problem pinning his back against the chair and clasping his face in a paralysing position. One of them held his right arm out straight, so that the first third of all his fingertips was resting on the ash wood of the table. There was no way that he could've struggled although he tried. It just wasted his energy.

Caranthir picked up the hammer and spun it in his fingers in a playful manner. He gave Legolas a look of intense loathing and the guard turned his wrist quickly so that just his thumb was resting on the ash.

"This is for...disrespecting the porter." The Drow said clearly with malice.

He brought the hammer swiftly down onto Legolas' thumb joint. The prince shouted in pain as an ear – splitting crack filled the air. He moaned in pain as his hand was turned again so that his forefinger rested on the table. The broken thumb hung limply from its joint.

"No, please." Legolas moaned with a struggled as the men tightened their grip. A guard's hand covered his mouth so that muffled sounds came from his mouth. "Mm," Caranthir pondered searching for another reason. "This is for...disrespecting me."

The hammer came down twice as hard this time. A muffled cry came from the guard's hand and the elven Prince screwed up his face in pain. The middle finger was then placed in the firing line. By this time the whole of Legolas' hand was shaking uncontrollably. All colours had drained from his face and he had shut his eyes to stop himself having to see.

"Now, let me see. This one is for...making the people in this room having to breathe your filthy air." The captain smiled before raising his arm again, and contorting his face into a spasm of determination and bringing the instrument down onto the finger.

More exasperated cries slipped through the tightening hand. The guard's knuckles, which were holding him, had turned a ghastly white underneath his pallid skin. He glowered at the elven Prince, bringing his twisted face close and grinning madly. Legolas' eyes screamed out in pain and kept closing them, as he felt fainter with every throb of pain.

Almost in repetition the next finger was placed on the table. Legolas braced himself by gritting his teeth. Caranthir pondered again with his arm in the air.

"This one's for...trying to seduce my sister."

The hammer fell, whipping through the air. It landed on the finger with the utmost precision. The terrifyingly accurate hit soared through the air and the crack was almost felt by the guards. They had winced as they held him down, but their hatred was regained as they tightened.

"And this one...your Royal Highness is for being a pathetic, disgusting, elvish scum, faggot." Caranthir spat at him.

Some of the guards tittered and the Prince struggled. A word that suspiciously sounded like "Bastards..." escaped the elvish Prince.

"What was that Legolas?" Caranthir asked his hand raised. "I'm disappointed in you. Just like your Daddy would be. Don't let him hear that kind of language will you. So, this is also for calling these fine men bastards, which I assure they're not."

With all the anger and vengeance he could muster the head Drow brought down the hammer onto the little finger on the table. The joint of the bones gave the most sickening crack. Legolas whimpered as the last of his fingers fell limply off of the table. All of the guards let go as if they had been electrocuted.

"Thank you Gentlemen." Caranthir called after them as they left the chamber.

He then pushed the Prince off of the chair. He fell and grunted with the pain.

"Worthless." Caranthir muttered as he left the room.

It wasn't long before someone else entered the room. He watched the boots tap across the cobbles and sit in the chair. It seemed he had brought another one in because that's what the person said next. Lüithiel's sulky tones filled Legolas' head.

"Sit down, Legolas."

The prince raised his head and dragged himself up. Lüithiel stared at him.

"Caranthir has his fun did he?" He drawled in his usual manner.

Legolas didn't reply, his eyes fixed in the table.

"I'm sorry, he gets a bit carried away sometimes." He said with no regard at all. "I wanted to talk to you. Stir some memories."

"Well I don't." Legolas replied.

"Well, I didn't say you would want to." Lüithiel snapped.

He stood up and walked around to the Prince. He kneeled down so that he faced the elf. He methodically placed both of his hands either side of his face. The dark orb – like eyes bored into the Prince coursing through his judgement and clouding all the explanations that were racing through his mind.

"This might hurt a bit." The King whispered closing his eyes.

Each finger that was pressed to Legolas' temple suddenly burned, like each one was a red – hot poker, filing through his flesh and writhing into his brain. The pain was excruciating, but at the same time it was exhilarating. Bright white lights flashed different colours in front of his eyes. Clouds of time hanging over him, veiling all his fears. Slowly then began to clear, the misty metaphors running through his fingers as he began to fall. He wasn't really falling, but he felt the earth begin to spin. The hook tied to navel jerked him forwards, a nauseating feeling, numbing his senses.

He was in a room somewhere familiar. The chamber was half lit, a few waxy candles standing proudly in their brackets in the walls. He sat on a bed. It wasn't his own, it was a double one, heavy with satin and silk sheets, folded and lain over each other carefully in geometric shapes. The nausea hadn't gone. It still lurched in the pit of his stomach as he sat and fidgeted. As he looked down he noticed that his feet didn't reach the floor. It was as if he had shrunk to half the size that was. He stretched his fingers and noticed that none of them were broken anymore. He exercised them in joy clasping and Un – clasping them. He noticed also that they weren't as defined as before. The grown muscles and adult bone structure of them was gone. They were children's hands.

With the absence of the pain he had suffered, Legolas felt quite numb. The dull dread in his abdomen gnawed away continuously and was quite conspicuous in the way that the boy squirmed on the ledge of the bed. His ears pricked as he heard voices outside the doorway. He strained to pick them up through the solid of the wood. They only came as un-distinctive muffles and barks of laughter. Despite this they didn't put the young Prince at ease. Laughter was most often directed at him rather than with him and the fear surging through his skin intensified. Legolas' shoulders jumped as a key scraped the lock. A large shadow was cast over him as the door had opened. He froze.

Feet walked towards him, increasing the caution he felt as they were hidden behind him. The small Prince recoiled under the threat of his father towering over him. Thranduil's face was younger, fresher and without the lines of toil that presented his age. His smooth skin was slightly tanned, but the eyes were still hard and cruel. They were irreverent to his son before him and held no love at all. Although fairly young, the King looked mature and parent - like as he stood before the child. A slight smile of mock innocence played on his lips. He looked like a bully standing over the next victim in a playground battle. But like most bullies the man held most, if all of the overwhelming power.

"Oh you can do better than that." He spoke in a playful tone.

Legolas stood up as something had pushed him from behind and hung his head.

"Now that's better isn't it."

The King's lip curled as he scrutinised the boy. A figure, more powerful and robust flitted behind his shoulder.

The man had a harsh face. It was cold and twisted with a dark smile. His features were prominent with sallow grey eyes containing no emotion. His nose was hooked and stuck out over his thin lips. The man's mud coloured hair straggled about his face, although clean it looked starved and dull. He stared at Legolas as if he were some form of prey that was all too close. The lust that caused his chest to rise and fall terrified the Prince. He knew suddenly with great apprehension that the man was shaking with violence. Or rather violence that was built up inside of him. His clenched fists were white with anticipation. Under the control of the King he held himself back.

"Is this him?" The stranger asked. His voice shook with radical carnality.

"Yes." Thranduil said with vengeful satisfaction. Some more strangers entered the chamber. They were cloaked heavily in black, veiling their faces. Legolas watched them one by one as they filed in like they were under a religious order. Indeed the silence was almost holy as no sound was signalled. It made the prince feel uneasy and he started to turn back to whom he was facing. Suddenly his father, caught at a venerable moment when he was unable to dodge out of the way struck the boy around the face. Legolas clutched at the reddening mark on the side of his face. His complexion had turned into a creamy pale mess of nerves, a lot like the pallor of sour milk.

This strike to the boy almost began as a signal to the men surrounding the bedside. Thranduil looked quite deranged as he stood back his breath controlling his body. Stumbling backwards he fell into a nearby chair, an expression of uncontrollable stupor on his malicious face. He then did nothing but continued to survey the scene. No smiles however evil were to be seen in the room as the struggle began.

Legolas had tried to run. It was hopeless however as the men pounced. Their actions were quick and routine as if they had done it before. Methodical the attack was, pinning down the kicking limbs one by one. The prince no idea what they wanted. It was natural for him to know that it be some kind of violent assault. Although he struggled as much he could he wasn't particularly surprised. It was unusual for people to touch him. It was always in this brutal and abusive way. He hadn't known anything else. The boy didn't get a lot of attention. Many overlooked the strange appearing child, with his timid, scrawny profile. His movements were rigid and usually quite sharp and jumpy. When not disturbed he was most often crumpled up in tree boughs where no – one would notice him. His expressions forlorn and self - pitying. Not that he had learned to be any different. Secretly he had yearned for the affection that was given to his siblings. Legolas was isolated from them. They quite often were unaware that they even had a brother and were happy in their own little worlds, as Legolas was in his. Enveloping fear unlike theirs rocked Legolas' world. The terrifying pursuit of his father's loathing for him, which he couldn't understand. It had lasted for as long as he had remembered, since he was small. He was unable to explain what it was exactly he had done that made his father detest him so. Punished for everything, it was almost hard to breathe in the life that was overruled by any incorrect action that he ignorantly would choose. Physical abuse was easy to ignore. He could hide behind the scarred skin, the bruised feelings underneath veils of shockingly bright blonde hair. It wasn't easy to see his face. The thick flaxen strands often hid it. So simple, yet effective and no – one even noticed. His life was lonely. The assaults that he did suffer were the only thing to struggle against and sometimes he was ready for a fight. A conflict of fear and depression eat away at his character till he nothing but a lost little boy. Unhappy, different from his classmates. Their eyes bright and hopeful for the future, his lights had long gone out.

Before long Legolas found his hands bound to the bedposts. The cloaked men held down his wriggling legs, many of them pinning him down with brute force. The prince's energy was running out it was pointless to try and resist when there were so many of them there. They were holding in an almost paralytic state. He was unable to move, but for the screaming that scorned his throat. Thranduil rolled his eyes in the corner.

"Shut him up." He snapped, putting a hand to his head and resting on it as if he were bored.

A piece of cloth was brandished and fixed over his mouth. It seemed stupid to continue when no – one but them would hear his shrouded cries. It was more comfortable for him to rest his face to one side of the pillows. He chose the right side of the room, away from the door observing the actions of the man that had come in first.

"My name is Lord Andreth." He said, the lustful stare still dancing over his face.

Thranduil watched them seeing quite amused. The cloaked guards assigned themselves posts against the walls. Looking like overseers of a sick cult. Andreth lifted his hand to carefully stroke away the strands of silky hair that covered Legolas' face. With a twisted smile he ran his fingers over his forehead like a mother would to her child. In a swift and sudden contrast his hand shot out hitting him savagely. Andreth laughed standing up. Legolas' wide eyes shifted to his father who continued to sit and stare.

"Do you listen in your tuition Legolas?" Thranduil asked the boy, not particularly anticipating the answer.

Obviously the elf wasn't able to answer his question, the gag constricting his words. Andreth paced the room, unsheathing a small blade. He held to the light so that it shined with glory. Legolas swallowed.

"Have you had reproduction education?" The king continued laughter in his tone.

His son closed his eyes.

"Ah, well do you know that some people don't like making love to women?" Thranduil persisted in the undermining questions knowing his son couldn't answer him.

"No they don't. Do they Lord Andreth?" He finished innocently.

"No." Andreth replied bristling maliciously.

"Some people prefer the beauty and masculinity of the male race. Is that not true my Lord." Thranduil asked.

This Andreth chose not to reply, inspecting the blade in his hand and mirroring the light in beams across the room.

"Some men, like Lord Andreth here." The King said his eyes glittering. "Now he needs to relieve himself somewhat but has decided that he'd do me a little favour." He paused for a while watching the other man as he paced the floor. "Oh, Legolas I've tried so hard. But you just don't want to know. Maybe some other form of punishment will work."

It seemed to be the end of his little speech and what he had meant Legolas could only realise too well. He was in a memory. A childhood nightmare, that haunted his sleep and his movements.

He began to scream regardless of the cloth as Andreth approached him. He writhed in the bonds but nothing was done to prevent it. Andreth loosened his belt. Legolas felt him as his pressure pulled down on the right side of the mattress. The lord pulled one leg over the boy's body and set himself over him, holding him down. The weight of the man on top of him was enough to hold him still.

"Relax. This might hurt a little at first, but I think you'll enjoy it." Andreth whispered into his hair.

Legolas closed his eyes in pain and shame as his clothes were pulled off. The Lord forced himself down on the child. Committing a disgusting act of abuse and self-satisfaction.

Many of the cloaked figures had turned to vomit and had urged at the sight of it. The other number froze in horror as they observed the boy's tears. It lasted for longer than they had first thought. When the Lord had lifted himself up he was unaware that a pair of tearful eyes had been watching through he crack in the doorway. A shock of golden hair flew away into the shadows as the girl had run away. The only accidental witness in the whole attack. Thranduil blushed as his son's dazed eyes, glazed with tears had met his. His hand retrieved itself from between his legs. Andreth smiled stupidly at him, as if he should be applauded for obeying the order. The king himself felt almost ashamed at the scene and stood up quickly. A sheet was thrown over his son to cover the bloody mess underneath. The bonds around Legolas' wrist were cut and the guards were told to leave.

The prince lay there motionless as the gag was removed. His mouth hung open in a silent scream. His pained eyes turned to his father. Thranduil tried to ignore him as his son's tears streamed guilty in his heart. It burned in his throat and he stared blinking with remorse.

"I think it might've worked your Highness." Andreth drawled at his master.

Thranduil turned to look down his nose at him in great dislike.

"Don't expect praise, I'll ask someone else next time."

Legolas blinked sadly at the last words he had spoken.

"Next time?" Andreth said hopefully.

Thranduil's lip curled at him. "Get out!" He snapped pushing him first out the door. He stopped as if to turn back but carried on and closed the door with a final click.

When the elf opened his eyes, his bodily afflictions cried out again with great distress. All the anguish flooded black as the dim light of the prison cell came back into focus. He shuddered a pained sigh as the memory haunted him. It had been so real all over again. The strife he had felt trying to forget it had all been in vain. Lüithiel stared at him his expression unreadable, torn between pity and composure. He stood and without a word left the room.

Legolas stretched out his arm and laid his head onto the table. The remembering hurt too much that it was almost physical. He closed his eyes and prayed that he dreams would be free of any trauma and toil.

Chapter Five

A Favour in debt

When the Prince awoke again harsh sunlight pierced his eyes. It flooded through the small window creating a small bubble of warmth within the walls. The pain in his fingers had numbed and only became apparent when he moved them. Lack of nutrition made him feel drained. Distant screams filled his ears. It was easy to ignore them. The shouts swam around in his head and triggered a splitting discomfort across his brow.

The door snapped open once again.

The unfriendly face of Caranthir entered the room a smug and unnerving smile across it. He held a young woman by the wrist and with some force pushed her through. The first thing that Legolas noticed was the long shock of hair that flowed with her struggling movements. It was a bright copper blonde, full in its hue it glittered in the sunlight. Her hair looked as though it was undecided whether to grow straight or fall into soft waves. The girl pulled away from the Drow attempting to kick him and fight away. The captain's hold was too tight though and her wrists were fragile and delicate. Her clothes were of fine silks and satins of a pale pink sorbet colour. Although ripped in various places the dress fitted her well. It ran off of her body, complimenting her very feminine figure.

Caranthir took her by the waist and held her up to prevent her hurting him. His arms folded around her stomach and he grunted as she managed to hit a part of his anatomy that he'd rather that she had missed. A sweet – heart neckline revealed the only part of her body on show. Her skin was very young and beautiful. It was neither tanned nor white but a delicate hue of both. In her struggle she had failed to notice that there was someone else occupying the room. The Drow carried her in a rather awkward position to the table and forced her onto the chair opposite the elf. Legolas had been watching silently so far, quite bemused by the situation. Caranthir swept back her hair and held her face by the jaw. The girl's eyes locked his with great dislike and defiance. Straight away Legolas saw how beautiful she was. Her cheeks were dusted rose pink with the fight and highlighted her prominent cheekbones. Her complexion looked very soft and inviting despite her hostile expression. Dark raven lashes contrasted against her tender skin, curling over shockingly compassionate cornflower – blue eyes. She breathed heavily through her nose, her chest rising and falling it its corset. Her lips were closed; the palest shade of crimson, perfectly formed and, slightly balmed.

The Drow turned to the Prince.

"I've brought you along a little friend." He sneered, letting go of the girl and leaving the room.

Legolas' eyes dropped to the floor as she turned to face him. Nothing was said for a while as she surveyed the prisoner.

"How long have you been here?" The girl asked.

The elf's heart leapt as she spoke, her voice was kind but cautious as she awaited his reply.

"I don't know." He muttered. "Long enough."

"My name is Jenirè what's..." the girl rushed before being cut short.

"Why are you here?" Legolas asked. His tone was hard and depressing and his eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

"I.." She faltered not knowing the answer.

"I need to know." The Prince continued.

"Why?" She pondered a little confused.

"So that we can get you out."

She blinked as he answered her.

"Get me out?"

"Do you know where you are?" Legolas asked his voice shaking a little.

"Um," She faltered once again, staring at him with interest. "I know I'm somewhere I shouldn't be, but..."

"Somewhere you shouldn't be?" The Prince then laughed a little sadly. "Oh yes, you've just entered somewhere that some people call hell."

The girl pulled a strange expression, at first as if he might've been joking and then realising that he wasn't, looked worried.

"How is it then if you can get me out, why are you still here?" She asked cautiously.

"I'm working on it. But I don't think its you that they really want." He replied, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

"It was my fault. I was wondering through the forest near to this border, I was lost." She moaned reproachfully as if he would scorn her for being so stupid.

Before she had time to explain any further the door opened again.

"Getting on are we?" Lüithiel's ghostly face swam before the two elves. "That's good."

The King forced a ghastly smile as he closed the door. Legolas glared defiantly at him as he glided across the room to the window. He squinted at the piercing sunlight and reclined into the shadows, his misty complexion burning through the darkness.

"I hope you didn't have any nightmares your Highness." The Drow muttered bitterly with some amusement in his tone.

"Why would I have nightmares?" The girl answered suddenly, her voice strong with confusion.

Legolas' brow furrowed at her answer.

"I mean you." Luithiel whispered dangerously.

Jenirè turned to face the man sitting opposite her.

"Your royalty?" She uttered incredulously, her face livid with concern.

"Oh yes he is." Lüithiel spoke, his face contorting into strange smile. "It's like a intercontinental gathering is it not?"

Jenirè turned to her fellow elf.

"What realm..." She began before being silenced.

"This isn't a bonding session!" Lüithiel shouted suddenly, she jumped before an infuriated expression settled on her face.

"Why can't you just get on with what you want to do?" The girl screamed back at him her complexion reddened.

Lüithiel looked at her in disbelief. "Oh you are so naïve." The King mocked. "I think she doesn't quite realise who she's speaking to, does she Legolas?"

"No." The elf replied angrily, his eyes still fixed on the floor, his face in shadow.

Jenirè turned to him in sour disbelief. Her eyes were screwed up in confusion her cheeks still crimson.

"Why are you siding with him?" She asked her voice rocking with emotion.

Lüithiel cut her off quickly, his expression hardening. "He knows how this works." He spat. "Mind you, if you don't get on maybe this will work a little easier."

"What are you talking about?" She said firmly and with great animosity.

The girl followed the King's eye - line with a jerk of her head. Lüithiel stared at the Prince drunkenly.

The shadows cast over Legolas' face deepened as he hung his head. Jenirè gazed curiously at him as she hadn't actually seen his face.

"Why is she here?" The Prince said shortly slowly lifting his head.

The pupils of her eyes contracted as the elf gaped. Jenirè's mouth hung open slightly as she stared at him. The sheet of pale blonde hair that had covered the man's face fell back. It unveiled a swollen pained face that looked as if it had endured a lot of toil. He looked a lot older than she had expected, though the eyes were young and bright. Saying that, they had a sudden haunted, sunken look about them that enforced maturity on his face. Under the swelling he looked extremely handsome. The impressive bruising that loomed as a reminder of his stay there tainted his complexion. Underneath it, chiselled cheekbones gave volume to him, as did his brow - line, flowing on to give him a very delicate but masculine appearance. Something interesting about the way he looked appealed to her. She couldn't quite comprehend what it was, but it was definitely absorbing. Those emerald eyes gazed up determinedly at the King before him.

"Didn't you enjoy a bit of company?" Lüithiel asked innocently. "Then, you never were the social type were you Legolas?"

The prince's face contorted at the words and he went slightly pink.

"Not your fault naturally, how long did daddy isolate you in your room eh? Keep you away from all the other little children to play with?" The Drow taunted slowly.

"Shut up." Legolas said through gritted teeth, suddenly very aware of the woman siting opposite him.

Jenirè sat looking very intently at him, her brow furrowing at the taunt and the reaction.

"Oh sorry." Lüithiel said dramatically, his spindly arms unfolding. He slid over to where the prince was sitting and brought his face down level with the prisoner's.

"A bit self – conscious of little girlie over here?" He glided over to her, fingers unfurling on her slight shoulders. "Don't worry, she doesn't mind what's said do you Jenirè?" He whispered his face uncomfortably close to watch.

Legolas flinched at his move towards her, feeling suddenly protective. Her face was very defiant against him dislike flowing through her.

"You didn't answer the question." Legolas said trying to control himself.

"Oh I just thought you might like someone to...spend some time with." Lüithiel played choosing his words carefully.

The elf Prince stared at him, trying to work out what has was intending.

"I'm sorry for the minds games last night Legolas, it was unjust. Must have pent up a lot of frustration did it not?" The King asked, his hollow eyes gazing attentively at the elf opposite him.

Legolas' eyes across to the girl underneath the King's hands. Her chest was rising up and down rapidly again, her eyes full of concern and fear. She had frozen under the Drow's fingers.

"Just thought she might help." The King whispered dangerously, "You know, someone to let it out on."

Jenirè's eyes let out a spasm of panic as she heard the words. They then shifted to the Prince doubtfully, the scared way she had looked at Lüithiel before then. Legolas' face darkened.

"I won't hit a woman." He said, his voice sickened by the idea.

He heard Jenirè let out a relieved sigh through her nose.

"Ah, that's very sweet Legolas but that's not was I was saying. Now, now you're not very good at catching on to these things are you?" Lüithiel smiled sickly at him.

He released his grip on Jenirè's shoulders before walking over to where the Prince was sitting. Standing by his shoulder he stared at the girl.

"Very pretty isn't she?" He said in a low undertone.

Legolas' eyes shifted to him in a confused stare. Jenirè looked at both of them, her head turning slightly to try and understand what he as trying to say.

"I'm just telling you that no – one will hold it against you if you just satisfy yourself for a while."

Jenirè let out a splutter of self - indignation. The fear controlled her body again as her breathing quickened and her mouth flapped, mouthing silent protests. The prince's eyes fell to the floor.

"Do you understand?" The King asked cautiously wanting an appropriate answer.

"I'm not that frustrated thank –you." Legolas muttered to the cobbles.

"Don't you like her? Is she not your type? Maybe you'd prefer a servant or someone like that. Maybe my daughter?" The king said, his teeth clenching on the last sentence.

The prince's brow furrowed.

"It's a shame you never got your honeymoon, but really you never got past the alter did you?" The king whispered anger shaking his voice.

"You can want all you want pretty boy, but you'll never have my little girl." The Drow spat level to his ear.

"She's fine." Legolas said quickly as Lüithiel's anger intensified.

The King straightened up. Jenirè looked as if her death sentence had been written.

"No!" She screamed.

"I'll be beck in a little while to check you're getting on just fine. Oh, and remember Legolas we have ways to check if you've lost you're nerve. That is if she's a virgin or not." He said his eyes turning to her.

"How dare you." She repulsed. "Are you suggesting..."

What he was suggesting they never found out as the door slammed, ringing through the air.

Jenirè backed as far against her chair as she could when the Prince stood up. He cradled his hand, checking the damage as pain shot through it again. The intense panic on her face was causing a sheet of sweat to form on her brow.

A hand clenched the back of her seat as he drew closer.

"I thought you wanted to get me out, I thought you cared." She pleaded quickly as he took another step forward.

"I do want to get you out." The prince said before moving even closer.

The girl jumped out her chair and backed to the window.

"But you want to do this first eh? You want to..." her panicked voice trailed off hopelessly.

"Shh." The Prince urged as her voice got shriller.

A shadow fell over the slit of light under the door. Quickly the elf lunged forward, his hands grabbing her waist and drawing her into him. Jenirè began to scream, struggling and kicking. He had to hold her more tightly.

"Please..." He pleaded as she made more noise.

Something made her stop and calmed her as his eyes met hers. He put his fingers gently over her mouth and looked deeply into her face. A slight blush rose to his cheeks as the silence filled the room. The murmur of Lüithiel's voice outside bought him more time. Suddenly Jenirè felt very inclined to move closer to him. The weakness in her stomach was quite distracting as she got completely lost in his eyes. The struggle had made her breathing quicken over his hand.

The elf brought his head closer to hers and she closed her eyes. When his mouth was close to her ear he started his explanation.

"Listen to me, I won't do this to you. I wouldn't do this to anyone despite your doubt." Jenirè's face reddened slightly as she remembered her fear. "King Lüithiel is a Drow as you might've guessed. He's going to be less than happy when he finds out I haven't done this so you'll have to be quick. I'm just hoping that he'll take this out on me, not you."

"What?" Jenirè whispered hoarsely, "what are you saying."

"When he comes over, I'll try and create a diversion so you're free to run."

"Why would you do that for me?" She said exasperatedly.

The Prince laughed a little. "I won't unless..."

"Go on." She urged.

"Can you do something for me?" He asked gently, half expecting her to say no. "If we're in Lüithien then the realm of Mirkwood will be a league west from here. It's the closest place you'll find form here. That's where I'm Prince of."

"Really?" She whispered suddenly.

"Not willingly," He replied quickly. "There you'll be looked after if you say you've been here. Ask for my sister Myria. Tell her where I am. Just to let her know."

"Myria?" She repeated determinedly. "I'll get you out too, I promise, when they know where you are."

"Don't worry about me." He said with a depressed smile. "I'm not that bothered about going back."

"But why? What if..." She asked before the door shifted open.

"Ah very nice and cosy I see." Lüithiel smiled savagely as he walked in.

Legolas let the girl go as if he had been electrocuted. She looked from both of them, a little flushed from the excitement of him holding her. But with the realisation of what she had to do, a determined expression settled on her face.

"No, don't mind me, carry on, please." Lüithiel said with amusement.

"You, twisted, sick son of a..." Legolas spat, his voice shook with emotion as his face contorted into paroxysms of rage.

The elf lunged at the King, his fists seizing the collar of his black robes. Jenirè's face was shocked at his sudden attack but realised it was her chance to run. She sprung into a run and was reluctant to leave but felt as though, like he had told her, that there wasn't much time.

Legolas' pushed at the King harder his face reddening as the king struggled clawing at him and shouting. Back up was received straight away, the prison guards pouring through the door at the aid of their King.

Lüithiel clutched at his throat as he was released from the elf's grip. The men flocked to the prisoner like moths to a flame. Random limbs kicked out at Legolas, the violent attack intensifying viciously as it proceeded.

When they backed away, the Prince lay bleeding and broken on the floor. He lay in a crumpled position, paralysed by the pain. The pink face of Lüithiel swam before him, quickly whitening as he looked down over the Prince with the utmost loathing.

"The girl!" The King screamed at the retreating guards. "Get the girl!" He said his voice shaking with rage.

He kicked Legolas in the side as he looked at him. The prince breathed though the blood that spitted through his mouth. It was pouring form his head too and he had to blink through it to avoid a sheen of crimson blurring everything.

"You'll pay." Lüithiel shuddered. "I swear," The King bent down to face him, the elf's eyes staring full of fear. "I will crush you, whatever it takes. Whatever..."

Chapter Six

Ignorance

Legolas was quite unaware of how long he had spent lying on that cold hard floor. It was hard to believe that the heavy breath was actually escaping his lungs, deathly and sharp. Many times he had had to fight for the cause of it all. The pain searing through his weak limbs was so intense, so potent that his apathetic eyelids had closed down all the thoughts, and shut out all the injuries. No – one looked upon him to see the devastating damage the guards had enforced. The Prince's body was solemnly broken: the epitome of the depression sweeping through his veins. The paralysing feeling the inflammations caused numbed the rest of the pain and was no part of the despair that he started to feel. It was as if the very room enclosed all the despondency in his life and drained the few elated times he had had. Legolas had been spared from any visits concerning the King and his evil subjects. In his silent but lonely pain he was left to, what it seemed die? If anything it had made him more determined than ever to survive it. A feeling of bitterness crept into his stomach as he thought of the absence of a rescue. All possibilities had been lost in his comatose state, which led him to believe with a heavy heart, that Jenirè may not have escaped.

After long days and nights the time rolled by unaware of anyone trying to understand its laziness. The days from what anyone could've told were hot and unbearably humid. The air seemed to linger like an intoxicating perfume, sickly and too sweet in its presence. The sun continued to pierce down through the grumbling clouds, its rays casting a large greenhouse of stifling heat over Lüithien.

Similar conditions were lingering over the realm of Mirkwood. The forests containing as much warmth as the palace indoors it was incredibly hard to escape it. A yellow – green, starved look settled in every kind of vegetation. A Princess sat in her father's office fanning her face with her hand. She didn't look as composed as usual, her skin shiny with the heat and rather flushed.

"Father is this really quite necessary?" She asked her voice bored and exasperated.

A pair of deep brown eyes looked up at her with scrutiny. The man sat over a desk littered with parchment and documents. He stared at her quite intently, a dull expression locking over his face.

"Myria, I want you to see how you're doing. How successful this course was for you." The man said, mopping his head and the enthusiasm.

"No you don't, you chiefly want to tell me how you were right and I was wrong." Myria replied back to him a little annoyance edging her voice.

The King smiled dryly into the papers over his desk.

"Now, why would think that?" He said innocently. "Aha!"

He brandished the piece of parchment he was looking for at her against a fairly new looking one. The Princess scanned them lazily as she surveyed them.

"Yes father." A short answer came.

As he snapped them back to the desk, something caught her interest as they had swept out of her eye - line. The bored expression was exchanged with a curious, anxious one.

"What?" he asked flatly, as he knew from experience not to satisfy the curiosities of his daughter.

"You, er, haven't heard any news have you?" She asked cautiously.

"No." The King replied dangerously with a tone that wasn't intended to carry on with the conversation.

Suddenly the door snapped open portly with a man in a crisp uniform bowing before both of them attentively.

"Someone to see my Lord. She said it was urgent sir?" The Man said treading very carefully, expecting a rather vicious answer.

"Oh. By the Valar, have I not got enough to do?" The King grumbled with a careless wave of his hand to let her in.

Both elves' attention was rapt to the girl walking into the office. Her travel worn clothes were a clear mark of her journey, but exactly where from was a mystery. Her once perfect hair was tousled and shaken. As she had ran marks of dirt and toil streaked over her skin spoiling her beautiful, fresh complexion. A few random cuts burned on her exposed skin and her expression was summed up in her tear filled eyes. She looked shaken and quite hysterical, but determined all the same.

"My name is Princess Jenirè of elven - Ithillien realm." She began before being interrupted.

"Ithillien? Ah yes, it has been split up has it not?" The question asked by the King was satisfied by a small impatient nod from the Princess. "Please, sit." He concluded soothingly as she slid into a nearby chair.

"I bear news of your son my Lord." Jenirè said slowly, her eyes staring deep into him.

Myria's head jerked up at what she'd said.

"Amandil? What's happened?" The King said suddenly distraught by the news that something had happened.

The foreign Princess tossed his suggestion aside quickly before carrying on. "No, No Legolas my Lord."

The king's eyebrows heightened slowly, a disbelieving expression settling on him.

"I'm busy." Thranduil said finally as if that one word had lost all his interest.

"Pardon me?" The girl asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.

"Father!" Myria exclaimed outraged. "Please let her speak for the gods' sake."

He looked at her stonily. "Fine, but please do keep your voices down, some of us have a country to run."

Jenirè stared at him incredulously, her eyes flashing in anger.

"That's more important than your own son?" She snapped.

Thranduil ignored her, his deep mahogany eyes fixed on his work.

"I'm listening." Myria urged, concern fulfilling her anxiously.

"He's in Lüithien. In the prisons to be more precise. Please help him, we don't have much time. When I had left he'd got me out by getting into a lot of trouble himself." She rushed.

"Oh how very noble of him." Thranduil sneered sadistically over the parchment.

Jenirè gave him a sickened stare that wasn't explained to her.

"Who put him there?" Myria asked in sudden confusion. "I mean he was destined to marry their Princess, perhaps there's a mistake."

Jenirè reddened at the news of his marriage.

"He's engaged?" She asked with sudden emotion.

"Oh please," Thranduil moaned. "She probably got bored of him and threw him out of the way for a while. He was always the one to... over - react in a situation like this." He added in an undertone.

"Father," Myria warned.

"What? I don't think you quite understand. You do know that they are Drows?" Jenirè spluttered.

Thranduil's head jerked up in fury.

"Remember who you are talking to! Lüithiel is NOT a Drow, nor will he tolerate being talked about as one." The King shouted at the girl.

She seemed taken aback with his reaction at first but gathered all her energy into her reply. "Go there then! If you've nothing to be frightened of, but remember you haven't seen what I have. They captured me for no reason. Threw me into a cell. Into one with your son."

"Oh how annoying for you. I give you all my deepest sympathies by allowing my head maids to clear you up. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tonight, then some rest...to get rid of this anxiety." Thranduil said, snapping a little. "I don't want dinner! Don't you get it? They're killing him!" She shouted.

Myria stared at her horrified.

The foreigner turned to her. "Please, when I left he was dying as it was...he looked awful." She pleaded.

A tear ran down Myria's cheek.

"Enough of this! Even when he's not here he's always make my family's life hell! You will not accuse neighbouring realms of torture, you will not waste my time and you will not upset my daughter." The king shrieked.

The elf fell silent. Guards linked her arms to drag her away.

"You knew?" Jenirè scathed. "You knew this would happen!" She started to shout. "Your son is dying and you knew?"

At dinner it was rather an odd attire of guests sitting around the table. Along the long stretch of deeply polished wood sat four people, one of which pushed her food across the plate grudgingly. Her defiant face had since been cleaned from the travelled dirt it carried before. She had been forced into a beautiful crimson silk dress, and to sit with the King and his small family. Amandil, Thranduil's eldest and most favoured son sat adjacent to him. Eating quite stealthily, he was very oblivious to the fact that the silenced conversation was not due to the fine food, but to the awkward relationship towards the new guest. Myria sat sombrely, the dazed expression still fixed on her face. She hadn't touched her meal but occasionally sipped at the wine crystal gripped in her dainty fingers.

The Prince lifted his head, his clam grey eyes shifting to his sister. Clearing his throat with a swill of wine, he spoke kindly to her.

"Where is Enris?"

Myria stammered a distant "I don't know." Before draining her glass for the third time.

Amandil didn't seem too phased by her odd behaviour, choosing to consider that they had had an argument and not pursuing it.

"Enris, is Myria's fiancé." Thranduil told the girl to his left informatively and proudly.

Jenirè's chest rose. "Well isn't it lovely to know that some of your children aren't alone, Your Highness."

Thranduil glared at her with dislike flashing through his eyes. Amandil also stared a little dumbfounded at her reply. Myria merely waved her hand for more wine.

"What on earth do you mean?" Amandil asked with confusion.

Jenirè blinked at him. "Nothing." She said shortly, her words chosen under the influence of the King's piercing eyes coursing through her.

"No! I'm sure an uncalled for insult deserves an explanation." Thranduil challenged, his expression hardening.

Jenirè played with the napkin in her fingers. "Oh well, I just thought that, well, you might've informed your eldest son Thranduil, that his brother is being tortured by Drows." She muttered coolly, her eyes still on the table.

"Legolas?" Amandil whispered.

"Oh ignore her Amandil, I think he might've been telling her stories." Thranduil sneered. "But, he never really did talk to anyone voluntary did he?" the King continued scathingly.

Amandil's brow was still furrowed.

"Tortured?" he bleated lost for words.

The king rolled his eyes.

"I'll send a carriage for you in the morning." He said to the girl soberly. "You can then go home."

Myria slammed down her wineglass.

"You won't do anything!" She shrieked. "You won't send anyone to help?"

"I thought you were more intelligent than that Myria." The King said disappointment laden in his voice.

"He asked me to tell you. I don't know why I didn't straight away." Jenirè told the shaking Princess. "I suppose I didn't think that his father wouldn't care to take direct action. Forget it, I'll do it myself."

The elf stood marching out of the hall.

"Play the victim did he?" Thranduil called after her.

She stopped dead in her tracks freezing.

"Did he turn on the charm? Poor little lost Prince in a bad King's prison? I suppose he knew it would work, someone as vulnerable and young as you." The king laughed viciously. "You'll learn that men will say anything to get exactly what they want. Did he tell you he loved you? The man simpered sickly laughter in his eyes.

The Princess turned her head, hatred contorting her face.

"Charm didn't break his fingers. Acting isn't starving his body. Lies haven't struck his face until he isn't recognisable, or torn his ligaments when his weight is held on them. No Thranduil, he would not say he was dying to try and get you to care. I will not wait for your ignorance to break him. You'll have his death on your conscience and although its what you deserve, I won't let you waste his life." She said defiantly storming out of the hall.

Chapter Seven

Crimson Disrepute

The elven Prince was hardly conscious for the event of him being tied to the rotting oak beam again. It constrained him to the wall's framework, jutting uncomfortably from the stone.

His eyes squinted as light released from the doorway cut into them. The warm, sparkling sunlight bathed the pained blotchy skin of the elf as the door was left open. The unnerving of sound of grinding heels on the gritty cobblestones coursed through the still air. The pale light blinded him, something he was used to. In the shadows they stood: the line of dangerous looking Drows. Their veiling cloaks concealing the depths of their evil expressions. They stood silently watching him as her tried to cower.

The rainfall of dust disturbed in the sunlight showered down around his body. The sheet of flaxen hair, which had once been so bright, was dull and starved of life. It hung helplessly, framing his sunken face. The once vibrant fresh pale complexion of the young man was unhealthily white. It was like flaking plaster, partly transparent like a sheet of anxious sweat had lingered for days over him. It gave the elf a congealed look, unmistakably decaying. The heavy head hung over his shoulders too drained of energy to hold itself up anymore. The squinting, haunted eyes were encircled by a deep shadow of rust coloured tiredness. Below them, the once chissled look of his cheekbones had now intensified harshly. They jolted out austerely, his skull - like appearance, hauntingly near its goal. His lips were parched and flaking, numerous slow – healing cuts desperate to stay where they were. The head that hung form his fragile shoulder blades seemed so self – pitying, so weak. The pain in the ligaments holding his arms seemed to scream violently before them. The joints of his arms alone were an unnerving purple – blue. The skin around them was a blotchy mess of pain holding together a weak enough frame. His body seem to hang from the outstretch of his arms. The decaying, shrink of the once strong muscle seemed to flow down, in sombre lines of beauty. He looked like an angel. Something so strangely captivating was held in his pain. Like disgraced muse who'd all thought had stopped he floated, almost in the thin air that surrounded him.

When clouds cast shadows through the sunlight, the elf was able to have a blurred view of what was before him.

Caranthir stood, a malicious smile dancing upon his lips. His nightly hair fell softly around his alabaster face like a river of tar. His hand held a small boy no older than the human age of four. The boy looked terrified, his bright, young eyes shadowed by a nameless fear. It shifted to and fro over the elf's body surveying the haunting damage. His breath soft and sharp as the Drow's grip tightened.

"I brought you another little friend to play with Legolas." Caranthir sneered. "But this time he won't escape."

Those cold, cruel eyes turned to the boy struggling in his hand. Both of the boy's were attempting to pull the spindly fingers away from his throat. Caranthir lifted the boy up by his neck with exceeding strength. Legolas' inflamed eyes widened. He wanted to shout his objection but found he couldn't. The lack of water had let out a hoarse whisper.

"You've seen this been done before haven't you your highness?" Caranthir spat as he drew out a blade. "You didn't stop it that time and you won't again. Not entirely your fault I suppose." He muttered casually as he raised the knife to the child's throat.

The boy moaned in pain and dread. He pleaded through the spluttering through his breathing difficulties.

In a swift, vengeful swipe the blade cut a line through the boy's throat, blood poured over the Drow's spider - like fingers in a gush of release. The boy's eyes rolled back into his head as he had fainted. Legolas struggled against the bonds with all the energy that he had left, tears pouring through his eyes, a blur of scarlet flooding the floor. Caranthir let the boy fall as he let him go carelessly. Without a second glance the Drow strode out of the room, the guards following him like sheep. He sucked his fingers as he went savouring the last of the blood he had spilt. The Prince spluttered as the door slammed the veins in his wrists popping up as he forced his body forwards. He jolted in spasms of rage, jumping against the robes knotted behind him. He let his head fall back as he tried, so hopefully to try and get free.

He suddenly froze as the child writhed. He had awoken from the shock and clutched his neck, endless rivers of blood pouring out as he breathed. Frail coughs of despair gurgled through the room as Legolas watched helplessly. The boy looked up at the elf, his eyes straining with panic. With a last paroxysm of pain the boy relaxed. His muscles releasing their energy into the air.

He was dead.

Legolas' panicked tears racked his throat. The haunting body lay there, still bleeding, still oozing over the floor. The delicate corpse seemed too tragic and lifeless. A shell, a reminder of his pain before he died.

The prince stared wide – eyed and frozen with fear and guilt. Silent tears poured down his face.

He remained with the boy for days. Still surveying it deathly still. It didn't seem quite dead before the decay settled in. Although he tried Legolas couldn't do anything to shun away the rats getting to his body. The stifling hot weather made it worse, the disgusting smell unbearable. Occasionally fed and relieved of thirst the elf stood and watched the boy decay quickly, until the flesh had gone and just a pearly white skeleton remained.

Chapter Eight - Invalid Dementia

Unexpectedly a sudden kind of strange strength had been dealt to Legolas. His loneliness had seemed to give him something that he couldn't explain. The four walls around him were so familiar that to open his eyes to them every morning they looked quite homely. The only difference was, unlike a home; he had no family residing there with him. The rats never seemed to want to converse back with him, only occasionally shrieking their angry replies. The dripping of the unfinished pipe - work was unfulfilling to his desire and no other sounds were made present in the cell.

The Porter shuffled in every day at a familiar time that Legolas guessed was around the time when the evening meal had been finished. His own meals were varying states of putrid filth. He had no choice but to eat it and had pride in the fact that his immune system had offered him such stability throughout the time he had spent at Lüithien. Thinking became harder as time slowly dragged on. His head seemed to hurt at the inkling of having to find something to say or planning any means of escape. So all hope he had had before was burning out. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light in the chamber, a wash of grey, decaying filth staining everywhere that they moved. Suddenly he had not felt so depressed and helpless as before. On the contrary, his surroundings uplifted him quite often and the happiness he had felt not having to face the hell that was his home. No, this place had been quite welcoming to him in this state and he was thankful for the placid nature he had been approached in. His thoughts confused him suddenly. Pain seered as he struggled against his own musings. It was as though he was fighting some unknown force that was begging him to give in.

The same eerie light shaft that fell over the Prince's body often bathed him again. The swimming, faceless shadows that blocked it moved into the dark.

"Hello Legolas." The silky tone spoke.

The elf recognised it as Lüithiel's. Hadn't come to see him for a while now. Indeed, it had been at least two weeks by his reckoning, judging by the burning sun overhead.

The sharp, pallid face that he owed all his pain swam before him.

"How are we?" The king said with mock concern.

Legolas raised his heavy head. His complexion was deathly white and his feature as though they were etched into ivory or marble. Everything about him looked oddly angular and jagged. The rust coloured shades that corroded around his eyes had turned to a deep, confronting purple. His eyes were a lot darker than before, so cavernous that they almost didn't seem to be green anymore. The flaxen hair that had framed him and looked so full of life wasn't blonde at all. From the roots down, it was a shining, dazzling hue of black. It had a glossy look, like the wing of a raven outstretched to take flight. The tips were still slightly lighter, a murky deep colour of brown. The milky complexion of the Prince's skin had filled his whole body, judging from the neck to his abdomen. All the bruising that had stained it before, looked blotchy and like grey clouds in a midnight sky.

Lüithiel glided closer to him.

"You look much better." He smiled venomously. "I can tell you'll fit in here."

Legolas stared at him with an evil expression before smiling madly.

"I think my little friends are starting to like me." He muttered his reply, his eyes falling lustfully to the vermin scuttling over the cobbles.

Lüithiel followed his eye - line doubtfully and with an eyebrow raised, looked at the elf with a slight smile of amusement.

"Are you feeling alright Legolas? You look a little manic." The King asked the amusement still playing in his voice.

"Oh yes," The Prince replied, his dark eyes shifting to the Drow. "Absolutely." He whispered, the eyes clouding.

Lüithiel sighed. "Ah." And continued the doubtful stare. "Do come in Almiè." He added still staring at his prisoner.

The princess glided in, the familiar bored expression locked onto her. When she surveyed the Prince she cocked her head slightly, a sheet of ebony hair falling to one side. Before long her face rested on her father's shoulder, her spindly left hand clasped onto the other side. The similar assertion that her father wore had caught her too and both Drows stared.

"You stole my memories." Legolas said loudly and suddenly. His look growing angrier.

Lüithiel's face contorted. "Your memories?" He uttered trying to recall. "Oh, yes...Of course. We shall have to make you some new ones." The amusement creeping back in.

The Prince stared defiantly.

"Or, perhaps we could pay you back for them." Almiè whispered, playing along, her lips glossy.

"What a courteous idea darling." The King said fondly, both drows now smiling maniacally.

Legolas pondered slightly. "What would you like?" The King asked.

"I think I know what he would like." Almiè whispered seductively

She brought a glass goblet from behind her back in the right hand that she wasn't using. A crimson residue stained the crystal as she swilled the liquid around in the glass. It seemed to burn through the solid of the goblet, a spectrum of berry reds. Then the Princess brought the glass to her lips slowly and painfully. The hunger seemed to eat away at Legolas, screaming through his veins. She drained it carefully, those coursing azure eyes fixed on their prey. Her lips were tarnished with the scarlet liquid, dripping and running down her chin. It streamed contrasting with her pearly skin, but in a creative way.

Suddenly her face seemed very close to his again and he looked at her hopelessly. Lowering her eyes to his lips and up again she kissed them tentatively. The Prince fed off of her, the distinct taste of iron fulfilling his hunger. It didn't take him long to understand that the liquid had been blood, but he hadn't pulled away. In one go the mixture had satisfied his appetite and quenched his thirst. Lustfully Legolas slipped his tongue between her lips and slid it across her teeth. She responded most efficiently massaging hers with his, both savouring the taste of the blood and each other. The Drow still held a lot of the liquid in her mouth and when he had opened her mouth it had poured down both of them.

"Now, let's not get carried away." Lüithiel said firmly still amused but an edge of nervousness catching in his throat.

Almiè pulled away breathing heavily. She hung off of the elf's body, feeding off of his strength of character. The scarlet liquid stained both areas around their mouths, which were hung open. The pearly teeth tarnished, clenched with ecstasy.

The King raised his head to look down upon them.

"I told you didn't I?" He said stonily with a sly, knowing undertone. "I said, if you recall, that you had potential, that you were strong. I'm impressed, you lasted a long time. Most don't like physical contact, consumed by the lust. You stood against her for a while." He continued inclining his head to his daughter. "Then if not then, the pain, continual pain hurts deep inside doesn't it? Caranthir was a little harsh, he wasn't supposed to break all of them, but then he always does get a little carried away. Then I thought, leave him, he might give up. But I was wrong, you weren't changing. Then the memory, I don't think you liked that at all. In fact, I think that's why you made sure the girl escaped. You were angry with me. But then, I think you expected her to get help for you. Seems she forgot. Oh, well. Then I got impatient; things got a little nasty. That boy needn't have died that way but that was your fault. If you'd given in than you wouldn't have to watch him rot. Shame." Lüithiel gave a venomous smile. "Worked though didn't it?"

Legolas' expression had disappeared and was replaced with a choleric one.

"Oh, Father don't kill the mood." The Drowess giggled placing a loyal kiss on the elf's jaw.

"Quite taken with him aren't you?" Lüithiel drawled.

"I think he's cute." Almiè simpered, smiling at the Prince.

"Yes, well all too many of my prisoners have ended up as your play things Almiè." Lüithiel sighed getting bored.

"I know, but can't I keep him." She asked as if the man was a pet of some sort.

"Now, now Almiè why don't you ask him politely. Let's not treat him like a child. Remember, I want to use him as well." The King played in a sing - song voice.

"What for?" The princess asked suspiciously turning to her father.

"Against his pathetic little father. That reminds me Almiè, get him cleaned up. Thranduil is coming here tomorrow and I want him to meet his son. We need to discuss financial issues. Oh, and make sure he's fed something substantial, preferably from the glass this time. I don't need you sexual explorations ruining my plans thank – you." The Drow added through the doorway.

"Which way did you prefer?" The Princess whispered in her seductive tone.

"Oh, the former obviously." The Prince smirked in a voice that was most definitely not his own.

Author's Note...(Again)

Sooooooooooo, did ya like it? Hate it Please let me know. How am I going to aspire otherwise? Thanks for reading if you got that far.