Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
After the Storm
Chapter Five: The Beast
It was a loud night. Dark things claimed Mirkwood with their horrible voices.
"This forest is ours!" they seemed to cry. "It is ours for the taking! We call to it and it harkens!"
Trees with black hearts grew in thick brambles as they clambered for dominion over all else, choking all other signs of life in a vast expanse over much of Mirkwood. Good things hid in terror, stifling cries to hide from spiders with varying success.
Yet it was peaceful at the palace. It was more silent and melancholy, though.
Tall guards with well crafted bows held vigil at the great doors; strong and intimidating, while inside all was quiet.
Quiet…
All was still, yet not peaceful. The halls were filled with melancholy, reflecting the Elves inside. It was as if a part of the kingdom had been ripped away.
In a lavish room, fingers stroked a silver goblet of red wine. Eyes searched a detailed portrait, contemplating questions.
It was a likeness of an Elf. Moon kissed hair tumbled from his head, pulled back in the braids of a warrior from blue eyes like a river at night; dark and reflective. His body was slender but strong, the green garments hiding the muscles of an archer. The strong hands that held that bow could also hold a maiden's hand in tenderness. The same heart that housed such fierceness for Orcs could also love to unimaginable depths.
He smiled as he gazed upon his little one. Nay, he was not a little one any longer. He was an archer now, and a strong prince.
"Legolas," he whispered, now sorrowful. "Legolas."
That was his Greenleaf, yes. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful child! When Legolas was born, he could think of no name better.
He drank deeply from his goblet then sighed.
"What did I do wrong, my son? Where did I err? You were so perfect, love. I doted on you, yes, but how could I not?"
Small golden bells hidden under pillows, soft stuffed rabbits sewn by his finest tailors… It was his way of apologizing for his absences. Yet they had experienced their times together. He had kissed pained knees in his time and watched his baby sleep. They had grown very close.
When Legolas matured he was away more often, fighting beasts and courting daughters. No time, it seemed, was left for his father any longer. His time at home became shorter and shorter, and then, suddenly, it ceased altogether, about a year ago.
He had never felt a year last so long. This one had dragged by, brimming with suspense and grief. Feasts became less frequent. Thranduil knew that he was dying. He needed his son.
No wine, however potent, could give him that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A harsh roar erupted into the musky air, banging into the cavern walls and echoing mercilessly in the Elf's keen ears, bringing him from dark thoughts.
He stifled a cry as he leapt to his feet, his bright eyes darting about and searching for the culprit, yet he could see nothing near at hand. There was a dead silence that pressed on his mind for an endless moment before the rough noise sounded once more, louder and closer.
He pushed his grey cloak out of his way and drew a long, white handled knife from its sheath. With a vigilant manner, he slipped into the dark shadows that haunted the stone labyrinth.
He had been here earlier, escaping from the Man, yet that had been a hopeless evasion into the unknown, and he had not held the luxury of looking about. He deeply regretted that now. One wrong path and all would be lost.
How could he tell which way would collapse? The rocks were each as old as the next, foreboding and oppressive like ancient sentries from some greater power, sent to guard the deep places. They frowned upon his presence and only his determination to find the snarling creature kept him walking, yet only for the present.
His brow furrowed as a mindless panic began to overcome him. A turn here, a passage there… how could he keep going, when the firelight diminished with every step into the unknown?
A deep throated growl came from close by. He silenced his gasping breath, suddenly frozen by terror. His thoughts merged into a senseless jumble, and his head began to throb.
It's really dark here, is it not?
Another horrible scream sent shivers through his flesh. He began to pant softly despite himself, trying desperately to don a mask of smooth indifference as hot beads of sweat trickled down his pale face, his fear hidden by the hood that had somehow slipped over his head. The musky air would no longer sustain him.
It is only a little further, the Elf assured himself. I merely seek to look upon this creature's face and no more. I am subtle in dark places, and it may not even know I was there. It may not be a foe at all!
Drums beat far ahead, faint but horrible, every stomp awakening panic in his heart. Closer and closer the beast came, each footstep growing louder and louder. The stones trembled beneath him. He wanted to flee yet his feet would not obey. The end drew nearer for him as the monster did; he knew that his time would come. Then a wonderful and horrible thing occurred.
The clomping ceased.
It was replaced by a wet snuffling like a gurgling stream that had been choked by moss and time. It began gingerly and sluggish, as if the thing was only just woken, then deeper and faster, like a sickening battle chant.
He listened in a detached state of awe for long moments until he realized what the creature was doing. He was being sniffed, like a wolf hunted its prey. Prey…
He could think again enough to run, but he didn't know what to do. Part of him cried out to run for his life, but then he would surely be found. Another wanted him to stay long enough to look upon his hunter's face. And another part was dark and sadistic, calling for him to join with the thing and destroy the filthy, weak Man…
A shriek pierced the air and his opponent charged forth as it uttered its battle cry. His eyes were drawn to the horrific sight before him, a portrait that would haunt his thoughts for years.
It was a cave-troll of abominable height, green as rotting wood with muscles that bulged from its thick hide with fearful ease. In its hands it gripped a great stone club with jagged sides, and on its face it bore a look of insanity and malice.
So death is my fate…
He turned quickly and dashed ahead, still glancing behind him at the thunder of those great feet at first before giving his full attention to the little hope still remaining for escape. He cursed his ill luck.
I am leading it right to our camp! he thought in despair. Had I not come, the troll may have wandered long in these accursed tunnels, mayhap even taking days to find the cave's mouth. Yet now it appears that I shall prove my own bane.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn moaned under his breath and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The fire was low and waning quickly, but from what he could see, the strange Elf had left. He played with the idea of calling to him for a while as he waited for his mind to fully awaken and was beginning to rise when he heard it-a roar that made the rocks quake and stabbed his ears in its wake.
The Ranger drew his deadly blade and rose into a battle stance all in one fluid movement. Silently he waited for his enemy.
He did not wait long.
The Elf bolted into the chamber first, his blue orbs wild with fear and a naked blade in his thin, white hand. He emitted a soft cry of terror that seemed to hurt him even more than the pain that had first made him scream.
"What-" Aragorn began to say, but he faltered when he saw the troll that came crashing through, its eyes rolling as it searched for a victim and its mouth dripping with foam.
It roared and came straight at his body, swinging its club. Aragorn shouted in surprise and darted between its great legs. The weapon, twice the size of the Man's body, kept going with the force of his strong arms to collide with the cave wall, sending cracks like ripples of water across the smooth surface of the stone.
He swallowed his fear barely enough to stab its arm, but the thick hide turned his thrust aside. The monster lifted its club with a battle cry. This time, Aragorn was not so fortunate.
Rough rock scraped at his side, snagging skin and ripping it away. He bit through his lip in agony as sluggish rivers of warm blood gushed down his leg with a fierce, vivid pain. He kept running though, his heart thundering wildly in his ears. The beast sniffed wetly, and, upon smelling fresh blood, shrieked happily and swung its weapon at Aragorn's head.
The Man screamed and ducked, quickly sliding to the floor. The club collided with the wall and embedded itself within the stone, releasing dust and pebbles. He coughed and shut his eyes, blindly feeling for an escape, yet it seemed that none could be found. The troll would unearth its club soon enough, the panic was killing him, and now a shaft of light was shining in his eyes… Wait a moment!
Sure enough, a feeble beam of red light was coming from a hole in the rocks, many feet above him. It was too thin to hurt the troll, and too faded to turn it to stone, but its very presence meant that the cave wall was weak there.
The beginning threads of a plan had began to weave themselves within his mind, when his trail of thought was cut off by a bellow of triumph. His mind froze as he turned to meet the troll and its freed club.
The column of rock came crashing down. He slipped to the side as fear put wings on his feet and the cave's sides swallowed the club. Mere seconds later, he was awarded with a short rumble as it was yanked loose. Small rocks showered onto the beast's foul head, noticed only by the scrutinizing glance of the Ranger as he ran back under the thing's legs.
He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled; a loud, clear sound that forced the troll to turn and growl in irritation, sending his club down to rid himself of the annoying call. Aragorn ducked and rolled as the cave began to tremble.
Veins throbbed in his enemy's neck as it removed its club and then tossed it into the cracking wall with a blood curdling shriek. It lifted its heavy fists and prepared to bring them down upon the Man's vulnerable body when the wall tumbled to the earth in an avalanche of boulders and dust clouds.
Through the ruin and groans of falling rock, the dawn pierced through in bloody glory and turned the cave-troll to stone, its pose forever one of anger.
Aragorn smiled and coughed, certain that everything would be alright. He was beginning to rise when suddenly an ominous rumble filled the air, shaking the rocky foundations like an earthquake and tossing him against the wall where he slid to the ground like a limp rag doll. He lay unconscious and bleeding on the rocks, his last cry unheard as the cavern collapsed.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Elf had been still and afraid as he watched the other fight from within his hiding place in the stones, almost as if looking from an eagle's back from far above Middle-Earth, or remembering listening to someone else tell a tale about it. It was as if there was no point to the battle, as if nothing that he could do would matter.
"Everything is useless, really. Nothing will matter in the end."
He hardened his glare and clutched his knife tighter.
"You know that I speak truly, little one. Why else would you bring out only one of your knives? Your heart is not in this life."
Leave me, he thought. Let me live in peace.
Horrible, cold cackles filled his ears and he stiffened.
"Leave you?" the voice hissed in cruel humor. "You lost me the Man, and I have yet to gain you back under my spell. Why would I leave you?"
You will leave me because I have ordered you to, he calmly explained. I am not your toy, rauko. Over me you shall hold no power.
Warm breath touched his ear and he shivered despite himself.
"You like it when I play with you, don't you? What a pity! I have taken your name, family, and even your speech away from you, as small tokens of my power, and now you hunger for more? I shall give you what you so desire."
Pain seared through his very core, eating at his heart and soul. His mind faded and then grew strong, estranged in a sickening battle for domination over his essence. He screamed silently, pleading for it to stop.
"What was that?" the voice asked him.
I'll be good! he promised. I'll listen! Make it stop!
The agony ceased, leaving him breathless as he crumbled to the earth, pitifully sucking in air.
"Bring me the Ranger," it ordered.
Yes! Yes! he sobbed. I will take him to you! I swear!
"Very good, my pet."
Invisible lips brushed his cheek, and then he was gone.
The Elf had just enough time to sheave his blade and scrub angrily at his eyes before he was buried in rock.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It was very empty, now.
The darkness was all that he could feel, and it choked him and made it a struggle to breathe. He gasped as he fought for consciousness. Yet very slowly, he began to feel again, and he wished for numbness once more.
He was buried under heavy, sharp rocks that tore as they dug into his skin. Pain pulsed through his veins. The air was stale and thin, as if slowly disappearing altogether.
His mind was in utter discord. He had no memories, no hopes, and no plans. All that he could think was one horrible thought, over and over again in his ruined head.
I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark…
He could not remember why, but darkness scared him so badly. He was wracked with severe convulsions, and his body jarred against the stones. He knew somewhere inside of him that he was making this much worse, but he felt so very alone…
He became unconscious again for a brief respite, until the sounds of grinding rock filled his ears. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but his stone prison kept him twisted in an awkward and pain filled position. He almost failed then, and began to faint, an action that would surely have meant his death, when a fiery rope of pain constricted about his chest, and then around his leg.
Someone was taking the rocks away.
Then he was wrenched out of the wall's remains with terrible force. The Elf released a poignant cry and tears streamed down his beautiful face as stones were ripped from his marble skin. He was nearly delirious with pain by the time the rough treatment ceased, and then he heard a sad sigh.
A cold, wet cloth caressed his brow and his mangled clothing was eased away, an unspoken sign that the worst was over.
"You will be alright, Elf," a soft, gentle voice murmured. "And it is a good thing, I deem. There is more to you than one first sees, for all the coward that you are in battle."
He opened his eyes, then, squinting in the bright light. He could see the Man, now. It was the one he had saved before, but how he knew, not even he could tell. Did not all Men look alike?
He was washing him with the cloth as he spoke, gently cleaning away caked blood and dirt. The other whimpered in pain and started to quake.
Aragorn looked at him with pity. Deep lacerations were visible on his thin body, yet only some of them were fresh. Others were in their last stages of healing or had been torn anew, but all of them proved his suspicions true; this Elf, whoever he was, had seen happier times.
Dark bruises danced over his chest and arms and bestowed upon him an even more delicate appearance, and his blue eyes, glazed by agony, stared at him in hopeless fear as he was scrutinized.
Aragorn turned his head and poured more water onto the rag, then proceeded to cleanse his many wounds.
The Elf shivered and closed his eyes as he lost awareness. He supposed that he could trust this mortal. At the moment, he only wanted to sleep. He was so tired…
The Man opened his pack to pull out his bandages.
"Who are you?" he whispered. "Who are you?"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hi guys! I have rescued my muse from that horrible fate worse than death: my sister.
She's back to her usual schedule. I think she's borrowed my mom's car to run over small wildlife and stupid pedestrians.
(A sound suspiciously like a mixture of smashed glass and screaming fills the air)
Yeah… it's life as usual. Wait! What's this? Did you guys forget about me? I only received five reviews! That's six less than before! No one likes me…
So, here are my thanks to the more dedicated reviewers:
LOTRFaith: I hope I answered some of your confusion. Actually, I think I might have added to it!:( Basically, we can gather that Legolas is not in Mirkwood and that the mystery Elf has gone through great torment. Interesting… all of the clues seem to point to Boromir… lol!
silvertoekey: Cool name! I'm glad you like my story! I hope this was enough torture for you!
Bill the Pony2: Thanks for the compliment! No, I didn't find a new muse, being the cheapskate that I am. Tell me if this one has fully recovered!
leggylover03: The Elf doesn't hate Aragorn, really… He's just scared and lonely, the poor thing. I'm sorry that I updated so late!
Elenillor: I do realize that I should have added something like that, but the Elf gave up. He didn't really care anymore. The evil voice strikes again! I'm so sorry about my slow updates…
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks everybody!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know! Please review!
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
After the Storm
Chapter Five: The Beast
It was a loud night. Dark things claimed Mirkwood with their horrible voices.
"This forest is ours!" they seemed to cry. "It is ours for the taking! We call to it and it harkens!"
Trees with black hearts grew in thick brambles as they clambered for dominion over all else, choking all other signs of life in a vast expanse over much of Mirkwood. Good things hid in terror, stifling cries to hide from spiders with varying success.
Yet it was peaceful at the palace. It was more silent and melancholy, though.
Tall guards with well crafted bows held vigil at the great doors; strong and intimidating, while inside all was quiet.
Quiet…
All was still, yet not peaceful. The halls were filled with melancholy, reflecting the Elves inside. It was as if a part of the kingdom had been ripped away.
In a lavish room, fingers stroked a silver goblet of red wine. Eyes searched a detailed portrait, contemplating questions.
It was a likeness of an Elf. Moon kissed hair tumbled from his head, pulled back in the braids of a warrior from blue eyes like a river at night; dark and reflective. His body was slender but strong, the green garments hiding the muscles of an archer. The strong hands that held that bow could also hold a maiden's hand in tenderness. The same heart that housed such fierceness for Orcs could also love to unimaginable depths.
He smiled as he gazed upon his little one. Nay, he was not a little one any longer. He was an archer now, and a strong prince.
"Legolas," he whispered, now sorrowful. "Legolas."
That was his Greenleaf, yes. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful child! When Legolas was born, he could think of no name better.
He drank deeply from his goblet then sighed.
"What did I do wrong, my son? Where did I err? You were so perfect, love. I doted on you, yes, but how could I not?"
Small golden bells hidden under pillows, soft stuffed rabbits sewn by his finest tailors… It was his way of apologizing for his absences. Yet they had experienced their times together. He had kissed pained knees in his time and watched his baby sleep. They had grown very close.
When Legolas matured he was away more often, fighting beasts and courting daughters. No time, it seemed, was left for his father any longer. His time at home became shorter and shorter, and then, suddenly, it ceased altogether, about a year ago.
He had never felt a year last so long. This one had dragged by, brimming with suspense and grief. Feasts became less frequent. Thranduil knew that he was dying. He needed his son.
No wine, however potent, could give him that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A harsh roar erupted into the musky air, banging into the cavern walls and echoing mercilessly in the Elf's keen ears, bringing him from dark thoughts.
He stifled a cry as he leapt to his feet, his bright eyes darting about and searching for the culprit, yet he could see nothing near at hand. There was a dead silence that pressed on his mind for an endless moment before the rough noise sounded once more, louder and closer.
He pushed his grey cloak out of his way and drew a long, white handled knife from its sheath. With a vigilant manner, he slipped into the dark shadows that haunted the stone labyrinth.
He had been here earlier, escaping from the Man, yet that had been a hopeless evasion into the unknown, and he had not held the luxury of looking about. He deeply regretted that now. One wrong path and all would be lost.
How could he tell which way would collapse? The rocks were each as old as the next, foreboding and oppressive like ancient sentries from some greater power, sent to guard the deep places. They frowned upon his presence and only his determination to find the snarling creature kept him walking, yet only for the present.
His brow furrowed as a mindless panic began to overcome him. A turn here, a passage there… how could he keep going, when the firelight diminished with every step into the unknown?
A deep throated growl came from close by. He silenced his gasping breath, suddenly frozen by terror. His thoughts merged into a senseless jumble, and his head began to throb.
It's really dark here, is it not?
Another horrible scream sent shivers through his flesh. He began to pant softly despite himself, trying desperately to don a mask of smooth indifference as hot beads of sweat trickled down his pale face, his fear hidden by the hood that had somehow slipped over his head. The musky air would no longer sustain him.
It is only a little further, the Elf assured himself. I merely seek to look upon this creature's face and no more. I am subtle in dark places, and it may not even know I was there. It may not be a foe at all!
Drums beat far ahead, faint but horrible, every stomp awakening panic in his heart. Closer and closer the beast came, each footstep growing louder and louder. The stones trembled beneath him. He wanted to flee yet his feet would not obey. The end drew nearer for him as the monster did; he knew that his time would come. Then a wonderful and horrible thing occurred.
The clomping ceased.
It was replaced by a wet snuffling like a gurgling stream that had been choked by moss and time. It began gingerly and sluggish, as if the thing was only just woken, then deeper and faster, like a sickening battle chant.
He listened in a detached state of awe for long moments until he realized what the creature was doing. He was being sniffed, like a wolf hunted its prey. Prey…
He could think again enough to run, but he didn't know what to do. Part of him cried out to run for his life, but then he would surely be found. Another wanted him to stay long enough to look upon his hunter's face. And another part was dark and sadistic, calling for him to join with the thing and destroy the filthy, weak Man…
A shriek pierced the air and his opponent charged forth as it uttered its battle cry. His eyes were drawn to the horrific sight before him, a portrait that would haunt his thoughts for years.
It was a cave-troll of abominable height, green as rotting wood with muscles that bulged from its thick hide with fearful ease. In its hands it gripped a great stone club with jagged sides, and on its face it bore a look of insanity and malice.
So death is my fate…
He turned quickly and dashed ahead, still glancing behind him at the thunder of those great feet at first before giving his full attention to the little hope still remaining for escape. He cursed his ill luck.
I am leading it right to our camp! he thought in despair. Had I not come, the troll may have wandered long in these accursed tunnels, mayhap even taking days to find the cave's mouth. Yet now it appears that I shall prove my own bane.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Aragorn moaned under his breath and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The fire was low and waning quickly, but from what he could see, the strange Elf had left. He played with the idea of calling to him for a while as he waited for his mind to fully awaken and was beginning to rise when he heard it-a roar that made the rocks quake and stabbed his ears in its wake.
The Ranger drew his deadly blade and rose into a battle stance all in one fluid movement. Silently he waited for his enemy.
He did not wait long.
The Elf bolted into the chamber first, his blue orbs wild with fear and a naked blade in his thin, white hand. He emitted a soft cry of terror that seemed to hurt him even more than the pain that had first made him scream.
"What-" Aragorn began to say, but he faltered when he saw the troll that came crashing through, its eyes rolling as it searched for a victim and its mouth dripping with foam.
It roared and came straight at his body, swinging its club. Aragorn shouted in surprise and darted between its great legs. The weapon, twice the size of the Man's body, kept going with the force of his strong arms to collide with the cave wall, sending cracks like ripples of water across the smooth surface of the stone.
He swallowed his fear barely enough to stab its arm, but the thick hide turned his thrust aside. The monster lifted its club with a battle cry. This time, Aragorn was not so fortunate.
Rough rock scraped at his side, snagging skin and ripping it away. He bit through his lip in agony as sluggish rivers of warm blood gushed down his leg with a fierce, vivid pain. He kept running though, his heart thundering wildly in his ears. The beast sniffed wetly, and, upon smelling fresh blood, shrieked happily and swung its weapon at Aragorn's head.
The Man screamed and ducked, quickly sliding to the floor. The club collided with the wall and embedded itself within the stone, releasing dust and pebbles. He coughed and shut his eyes, blindly feeling for an escape, yet it seemed that none could be found. The troll would unearth its club soon enough, the panic was killing him, and now a shaft of light was shining in his eyes… Wait a moment!
Sure enough, a feeble beam of red light was coming from a hole in the rocks, many feet above him. It was too thin to hurt the troll, and too faded to turn it to stone, but its very presence meant that the cave wall was weak there.
The beginning threads of a plan had began to weave themselves within his mind, when his trail of thought was cut off by a bellow of triumph. His mind froze as he turned to meet the troll and its freed club.
The column of rock came crashing down. He slipped to the side as fear put wings on his feet and the cave's sides swallowed the club. Mere seconds later, he was awarded with a short rumble as it was yanked loose. Small rocks showered onto the beast's foul head, noticed only by the scrutinizing glance of the Ranger as he ran back under the thing's legs.
He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled; a loud, clear sound that forced the troll to turn and growl in irritation, sending his club down to rid himself of the annoying call. Aragorn ducked and rolled as the cave began to tremble.
Veins throbbed in his enemy's neck as it removed its club and then tossed it into the cracking wall with a blood curdling shriek. It lifted its heavy fists and prepared to bring them down upon the Man's vulnerable body when the wall tumbled to the earth in an avalanche of boulders and dust clouds.
Through the ruin and groans of falling rock, the dawn pierced through in bloody glory and turned the cave-troll to stone, its pose forever one of anger.
Aragorn smiled and coughed, certain that everything would be alright. He was beginning to rise when suddenly an ominous rumble filled the air, shaking the rocky foundations like an earthquake and tossing him against the wall where he slid to the ground like a limp rag doll. He lay unconscious and bleeding on the rocks, his last cry unheard as the cavern collapsed.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Elf had been still and afraid as he watched the other fight from within his hiding place in the stones, almost as if looking from an eagle's back from far above Middle-Earth, or remembering listening to someone else tell a tale about it. It was as if there was no point to the battle, as if nothing that he could do would matter.
"Everything is useless, really. Nothing will matter in the end."
He hardened his glare and clutched his knife tighter.
"You know that I speak truly, little one. Why else would you bring out only one of your knives? Your heart is not in this life."
Leave me, he thought. Let me live in peace.
Horrible, cold cackles filled his ears and he stiffened.
"Leave you?" the voice hissed in cruel humor. "You lost me the Man, and I have yet to gain you back under my spell. Why would I leave you?"
You will leave me because I have ordered you to, he calmly explained. I am not your toy, rauko. Over me you shall hold no power.
Warm breath touched his ear and he shivered despite himself.
"You like it when I play with you, don't you? What a pity! I have taken your name, family, and even your speech away from you, as small tokens of my power, and now you hunger for more? I shall give you what you so desire."
Pain seared through his very core, eating at his heart and soul. His mind faded and then grew strong, estranged in a sickening battle for domination over his essence. He screamed silently, pleading for it to stop.
"What was that?" the voice asked him.
I'll be good! he promised. I'll listen! Make it stop!
The agony ceased, leaving him breathless as he crumbled to the earth, pitifully sucking in air.
"Bring me the Ranger," it ordered.
Yes! Yes! he sobbed. I will take him to you! I swear!
"Very good, my pet."
Invisible lips brushed his cheek, and then he was gone.
The Elf had just enough time to sheave his blade and scrub angrily at his eyes before he was buried in rock.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It was very empty, now.
The darkness was all that he could feel, and it choked him and made it a struggle to breathe. He gasped as he fought for consciousness. Yet very slowly, he began to feel again, and he wished for numbness once more.
He was buried under heavy, sharp rocks that tore as they dug into his skin. Pain pulsed through his veins. The air was stale and thin, as if slowly disappearing altogether.
His mind was in utter discord. He had no memories, no hopes, and no plans. All that he could think was one horrible thought, over and over again in his ruined head.
I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark…
He could not remember why, but darkness scared him so badly. He was wracked with severe convulsions, and his body jarred against the stones. He knew somewhere inside of him that he was making this much worse, but he felt so very alone…
He became unconscious again for a brief respite, until the sounds of grinding rock filled his ears. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but his stone prison kept him twisted in an awkward and pain filled position. He almost failed then, and began to faint, an action that would surely have meant his death, when a fiery rope of pain constricted about his chest, and then around his leg.
Someone was taking the rocks away.
Then he was wrenched out of the wall's remains with terrible force. The Elf released a poignant cry and tears streamed down his beautiful face as stones were ripped from his marble skin. He was nearly delirious with pain by the time the rough treatment ceased, and then he heard a sad sigh.
A cold, wet cloth caressed his brow and his mangled clothing was eased away, an unspoken sign that the worst was over.
"You will be alright, Elf," a soft, gentle voice murmured. "And it is a good thing, I deem. There is more to you than one first sees, for all the coward that you are in battle."
He opened his eyes, then, squinting in the bright light. He could see the Man, now. It was the one he had saved before, but how he knew, not even he could tell. Did not all Men look alike?
He was washing him with the cloth as he spoke, gently cleaning away caked blood and dirt. The other whimpered in pain and started to quake.
Aragorn looked at him with pity. Deep lacerations were visible on his thin body, yet only some of them were fresh. Others were in their last stages of healing or had been torn anew, but all of them proved his suspicions true; this Elf, whoever he was, had seen happier times.
Dark bruises danced over his chest and arms and bestowed upon him an even more delicate appearance, and his blue eyes, glazed by agony, stared at him in hopeless fear as he was scrutinized.
Aragorn turned his head and poured more water onto the rag, then proceeded to cleanse his many wounds.
The Elf shivered and closed his eyes as he lost awareness. He supposed that he could trust this mortal. At the moment, he only wanted to sleep. He was so tired…
The Man opened his pack to pull out his bandages.
"Who are you?" he whispered. "Who are you?"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Hi guys! I have rescued my muse from that horrible fate worse than death: my sister.
She's back to her usual schedule. I think she's borrowed my mom's car to run over small wildlife and stupid pedestrians.
(A sound suspiciously like a mixture of smashed glass and screaming fills the air)
Yeah… it's life as usual. Wait! What's this? Did you guys forget about me? I only received five reviews! That's six less than before! No one likes me…
So, here are my thanks to the more dedicated reviewers:
LOTRFaith: I hope I answered some of your confusion. Actually, I think I might have added to it!:( Basically, we can gather that Legolas is not in Mirkwood and that the mystery Elf has gone through great torment. Interesting… all of the clues seem to point to Boromir… lol!
silvertoekey: Cool name! I'm glad you like my story! I hope this was enough torture for you!
Bill the Pony2: Thanks for the compliment! No, I didn't find a new muse, being the cheapskate that I am. Tell me if this one has fully recovered!
leggylover03: The Elf doesn't hate Aragorn, really… He's just scared and lonely, the poor thing. I'm sorry that I updated so late!
Elenillor: I do realize that I should have added something like that, but the Elf gave up. He didn't really care anymore. The evil voice strikes again! I'm so sorry about my slow updates…
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks everybody!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know! Please review!