"Keep him here!" ordered Calaen, gripping Legolas by the shoulders, and
holding him still. Guards came over at the command, and grabbed various
parts of Legolas' body – hair, arms, and wrists – then proceeded to push
him up against the wall. There were apparently chains and manacles there,
for Legolas could hear them clanking dully just above him.
"Get off me!" spat the Prince, tossing his head and pulling his arms away from the guards who were trying to hold him still. They found it impossible though, for Legolas struck out at anyone standing near him, and was rewarded by hissed curses from those who were victim to his strong arm and fiery temper.
"Hold him down!" yelled Calaen, jumping a few feet backwards as Legolas grabbed a random guard and threw him across the room. Sharp breaths were drawn from every Elf there, as the strength of the Prince was demonstrated. It then became clear just how much of an asset he would be when they began to carry out their plans.
A dark haired Elf, Brélamir, who had been watching calmly in the shadows, threw a hand out as a golden blur shot past him. "I don't think so," he whispered in amusement, twisting Legolas' hair and pulling him close.
When the younger Elf tried to jerk forwards, Brélamir wrapped a strong arm around Legolas' mid-section, clamped one hand over his mouth, and cast a sly look around the room – which was in absolute chaos – before slipping un- noticed from a side door, along with his prize.
There was one however, who had not once taken his eyes off his closest friend. Aragorn stood protectively in front of a trembling Frodo, and was torn between leaving the Hobbit alone or trying to escape and following after Legolas. He went for the first choice though, deciding that although his hands were bound and mouth gagged, Frodo must have some form of comfort and not be left alone. Legolas however, could easily defend himself against one Elf.
"What in all the Valar...?" muttered Calaen. He looked slowly around the room, anger rising as he saw that the guards were empty handed. "What just happened here? Where is my brother?"
"Prince Calaen, I...we...Legolas...is not here," stammered a guard. "We tried to hold him back, but he got free. We could not see what happened then, so great was the chaos."
"Do you mean to say that one of my prisoners has escaped?" demanded Calaen, leaping forwards and violently shaking the guard who had spoken. "Are you saying that you cannot keep track of one single Elf, who might I add, is younger than all of you? Did he really slip past you?"
The guard bit his lip, but nodded all the same. "Yes, Prince Calaen. He could've left from any of the side doors, but the dimness of the room and the afore-mentioned chaos made it difficult for us to see."
"You are Elves and have Elven sight!" snarled Calaen. Cursing, he threw the unfortunate guard from him, and passed a hand through his hair. "Right, if it is not too hard for you, take the Ranger and Halfling back to their cell; it is no good doing anything whilst Legolas is not around to watch. Then come back here and split into groups to find my brother."
As Aragorn felt himself being pulled away in the direction of the door, his grey eyes flickered in confusion. Why would they want Legolas to witness whatever form of pain himself and Frodo would have been put through? Why was it so important for Legolas to watch something like that? Cursing in his mind, the Ranger realised that he could only hope and pray for his friend's freedom.
............................................................................................................
"Be quiet, I am not going to hurt you," hissed Brélamir, as Legolas tried in vain to get away. "I am only taking you to some friends of mine, who are...intrigued by you. They have heard many stories of Mirkwood's youngest Prince, but never have they met him. This is their chance, you see."
Legolas drew a sharp breath and without warning, slammed his elbow back into Brélamir's chest. Caught by surprise, the guard instinctively released his captive and doubled over, having had all the air knocked from him. The Prince spun around and struck Brélamir, before kicking him in his already hurting chest.
"You made a mistake in stealing me away," snarled Legolas, throwing Brélamir down to the ground and kneeling over him.
"Curse you to Mordor!" spat the guard.
Legolas narrowed his eyes as he felt Brélamir struggling, and put both hands on either side of the other Elf's head, only to slam it down hard on the stone floor. Brélamir moaned as he felt blood pooling around him, and reached down to grab a knife from his belt. This was seen though, and Legolas went to slam his head down once more. However, the Prince moved to quickly and sharply, and he froze in horror as a sudden sickening crack sounded.
"What have I done?" he breathed.
Brélamir had stopped struggling, eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was no need to examine him, for the strange and un-natural angle of his neck gave away the fact that he would never again move. He was dead, and Legolas was a murderer. After all the false accusations, there was finally some truth behind the evil word.
"Valar forgive me," whispered Legolas, slowly getting to his feet and taking a step back, gaze never leaving the motionless body. But he was no cold blooded killer; no matter what Brélamir's intentions had been, Legolas' only wish was to knock the other Elf out, so he could find his friends or at least escape and get help.
Biting his lip, Legolas suddenly darted forward and dropped to the ground next to Brélamir. He hated having to do this, to touch someone who just a few minutes back had been strong and healthy. But there seemed to be no choice. Legolas was weaponless, and to try and escape unarmed would be madness. Brélamir however, had two sets of knives tucked into his belt, all small, yet sharp enough to protect.
Just as he was about to gather the blades, a hand came out of nowhere, and settled itself on Legolas' shoulder. The Elf tensed and his eyes widened in fear, but he made no move to turn around. Instead, he pulled a knife from Brélamir's belt, reached behind him to grab the wrist connected to the hand, and with impressive strength, flipped the stranger over onto his back, all done in less than two seconds.
"I've killed once and I'll do it again," growled Legolas, fighting away the previous feelings of fear and guilt. He pressed the knife to his prisoner's throat, but started upon finding out that it was not an Elf.
"Not to me, you won't," retorted Farath, a strong, ashen haired man. He smiled as shadows moved above him, and Legolas was pulled away by some of his comrades. "Come, we'll take him into that room there, and wait until the time is right to leave."
"Who are you? And what do you-?
Legolas was swiftly cut off as a large, rough hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. So great was the size of the man's palm though, it also covered his nose, causing his breathing to become laboured. He was being forced to move forwards, and he instinctively tossed his head, though that made the hand across his mouth tighten. So, the Prince did something he had not done since he was an Elfling and an irritated Thranduil had tried to put him to bed.
"Why, you little..." cried the man, pushing Legolas from him as sharp teeth suddenly found their way into his hand.
"Shut up, fool, unless you want those Elves swooping down on us," hissed Farath, shooting his companion a dirty look, before kicking open a door and throwing Legolas inside.
The Elf could easily have kept his balance, but he chose to fall to the ground instead. There was a good reason for this though: Legolas did not wish anyone to see him slipping Brélamir's knife into his boot. It might look just a little suspicious if he were to casually reach down and do it under the eyes of the men, which he noted were glinting with...passionate mania? Even Calaen did not have eyes as cruel as these men. It was strange, disturbing, and as Legolas stood up, he found himself wishing that he had not hidden the knife.
"Well, well, well," said Farath slowly, stepping away from the group, and beginning to circle Legolas. "We have an Elf in our midst, an Elf different from any others. You see, men, this is the Greenleaf of Mirkwood, Thranduil's youngest child. This is what we have come for. And let me ask a question now. Are you all happy with this Elf? Does his beauty...please you?"
Legolas swallowed nervously as the men made low noises of confirmation, some of them laughing, others making audible comments about his pale complexion, ocean eyes and golden hair. Most of them appeared to go un- noticed by Farath, but he suddenly reached out and caught someone by the arm. It happened to be Pharunaic, the man who had been bitten by Legolas.
"Would you care to repeat what you just said?" asked Farath dangerously.
"Of course, Captain. All I said was that I have been blessed with a gift, for it's my hands that touched the Elf's fair face first," smirked Pharunaic. "Not many of you can say that, eh?"
"Not many of you will be saying anything if you don't shut your mouths and let me speak to the Elf," snapped Farath. He glared at his men for a moment, before snapping his eyes back to an apprehensive Legolas. "Am I right in believing that you have not yet been informed as to why you are here?"
The Prince inclined his head, trying to block out the sense of fear that was washing over him. "You are correct. Why not enlighten me?"
"Gladly. Now, we have made alliances with Calaen, and there are many who think that the only reason we have done so, is because we have been promised land, high titles and food for our people. We have, but that's not why we did it," said Farath. He paused for affect, smiling inwardly as Legolas clenched his fists.
"Come on, Captain, we grow impatient," said Pharunaic quietly.
Ignoring the comment, Farath stepped forward and put a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "You see, my dear Prince, all that we have wanted for a long time now...is you."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Legolas, eyes darkening.
"After all the time spent with Calaen, a trace of innocence remains," mused Farath. "So old, and yet so young. So experienced, yet still so naïve. Can you not see, Legolas? Am I not making myself clear? I will tell you then. As soon as the coast is clear, we will be leaving for our camp, and you will come with us, but Calaen will not know that. We first decided you would become our slave, but now I have seen your beauty, I have changed my mind.
At this, the men all drew sharp breaths, and two or three of them leaned forwards eagerly, for whatever their Captain had decided was news to them. Smiling, Farath pushed Legolas back against the wall, and positioned himself so that their faces were a mere three inches apart.
"We will keep you as our little toy," whispered the Captain, "for our own personal use of course."
Legolas' head snapped up as he realised exactly what was being implied, whilst Farath's grin widened, and he lazily trailed a hand down the Elf's exposed neck. "Yes, you will do just fine."
"I would die before acting as your...your plaything," spat Legolas, hitting Farath's hand away and dropping to the ground. His intentions were not revealed to the men until the glint of silver flashing through the air, caught their eyes.
Legolas raised his arm and swiftly brought it down across Farath's chest. Like quite a few Elven knives, this was not meant to kill, only wound, and that is exactly what it did. A crimson stain flowered on the front of Farath's shirt, but he ignored it and knocked the blade from Legolas' hand, although he ended up having his own fingers sliced.
"Your beauty conceals what is truly inside," hissed the Captain, curling his fist into a ball and throwing it into the side of Legolas' face. "That temper of yours will have to be forcefully driven away." With that, he nodded to his men standing against the walls, and they surged forwards like a wave on a rough night.
As soon as he realised what was happening, Legolas dropped to the ground once more, his hand darting out to grab the knife which Farath had thrown. That was a mistake though, for the men took advantage of the position he was it, and began harshly kicking him. As a heavy boot stamped on his wrist, the Elf vaguely recalled the same thing happening another time when he had tried to reach for a dropped weapon.
"Teach the Prince some manners!" roared Farath, forgetting that they were not yet back at camp, and were not supposed to make noise.
The men laughed wildly, and as Legolas tried to get up, one of them struck him across the head with the hilt of a sword. The Elf staggered slightly, giving his captors a perfect chance to push him down onto his knees, and dizzied by the blow, Legolas could not resist. One of the men reached down and grabbed him by the hair, deliberately digging their fingers into the new gash, forcing him to look up.
"You have just made a rather big mistake," said Farath quietly, holding up a hand for his men to fall quiet. "We could've been friends, Elf. But now you have ruined any chance of that. My comrades, my brothers! Do with him what you wish."
As Farath moved out of the way, Pharunaic knelt in front of Legolas, and roughly cupped the Elf's chin in his hands. "Oh yes, Captain. We will do...whatever we wish."
"Never, scum!" hissed Legolas, jerking his head away from the hands that held him still. Suddenly though, something heavy smashed down onto the back of the Prince's legs, and he could not help but cry out as excruciating pain exploded in him.
"And again. Make him realise that we do not make idle threats," said Farath calmly, not once looking up as he wrapped some cloth around his fingers. However he smiled, when he heard Legolas curse violently; he had just been dealt another harsh blow.
Pharunaic took something from his companions, and went to stand in front of Legolas again. "Look at this, Elf. Those were just warning shots, and the next time you try and struggle, it will be me dealing the blows. I am not so lenient as my friends, so be prepared."
Legolas slowly raised his eyes, and as his mind registered what kind of weapon had been used on him, his face paled. It was a club, akin to the type used by cave trolls, but obviously quite a bit smaller. It was a light grey colour, but what disturbed the Elf, were the specks of brown dotted on it: old, dried blood.
"Are you going to calm down?" asked Pharunaic quietly. His eyes glinted in anger when he got no reply. "Are you going to calm down, or am I going to have to use this on you again?" Still, no reply. "Do you have a death wish, Elf?"
The Prince stared defiantly up at Pharunaic, and curled his lip disdainfully. The reward for that though, was being clubbed twice in his stomach. Legolas fell forwards onto his hands as all the air was knocked from him and his breaths came raggedly, painfully. Golden hair hung down past his eyes, and as he rapidly inhaled and exhaled, some blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Is he still not talking?" asked Farath.
"No, Captain. Shall I carry on, or just leave it for a while?" asked Pharunaic, letting the club fall down to his side.
Farath rolled his eyes, and moved forwards to kneel next to Legolas. "Co- operation is something that we value highly in this group. Are you willing to do just that?" he asked, turning Legolas' face up.
"The souls of you and your men can burn in the depths of Mordor," said Legolas in a low voice.
"Ah, I was hoping you would say something a little less harsh than that," said Farath. "What is about to happen next is no-one's fault but your own. You had a chance to back down, Prince, but you didn't."
Almost regretfully, Farath pulled the weapon from Pharunaic's hands, and raised it high above his head. Elf and man locked eyes for a brief moment, before the club was brought crashing down.
............................................................................................................
nilraen: Yes, Aradan *is* Calaen's child, poor guy! Calaen didn't adopt him; they are truly father and son.
Inwe Elendil: Well, I don't mind giving you Calaen to torture, but would you mind waiting until the story is finished? It wouldn't be helpful at all if one of my characters died before it's over!
Rachel13: I really don't know how you manage to come up with those! I think you'd be really good as a therapist as well! LOL Yeah, I like Pippin too. Don't worry, I won't do *that* much to him! I'm kidding. (I think)
elves_will_rule: You're damn right they will! Sorry, how random. But thanks for the compliment, it was really nice!
Maiden-Of-Tears: Cos my friend was reading my reviews and trying to guess where each person came from. She's weird, I know. She thought that you might have been from England. Just like, ignore her! I do!
Halimanya: Yeah, you're not the first person to say that Calaen is like Corelen. I didn't actually have him in mind when I started writing 'A Brother's Jealousy', and it wasn't until I was a couple of chapters in that I actually realised!
So sorry this chapter took like, forever to appear. I've had soooooo much revision to do for my stupid GCSE's in a few weeks, which I really don't wanna do. But I guess I don't have much choice. Anyway, sorry again for the delay *and* the evil cliffie, but the next chapter will definitely be up tomorrow. Luv Misto x-x
"Get off me!" spat the Prince, tossing his head and pulling his arms away from the guards who were trying to hold him still. They found it impossible though, for Legolas struck out at anyone standing near him, and was rewarded by hissed curses from those who were victim to his strong arm and fiery temper.
"Hold him down!" yelled Calaen, jumping a few feet backwards as Legolas grabbed a random guard and threw him across the room. Sharp breaths were drawn from every Elf there, as the strength of the Prince was demonstrated. It then became clear just how much of an asset he would be when they began to carry out their plans.
A dark haired Elf, Brélamir, who had been watching calmly in the shadows, threw a hand out as a golden blur shot past him. "I don't think so," he whispered in amusement, twisting Legolas' hair and pulling him close.
When the younger Elf tried to jerk forwards, Brélamir wrapped a strong arm around Legolas' mid-section, clamped one hand over his mouth, and cast a sly look around the room – which was in absolute chaos – before slipping un- noticed from a side door, along with his prize.
There was one however, who had not once taken his eyes off his closest friend. Aragorn stood protectively in front of a trembling Frodo, and was torn between leaving the Hobbit alone or trying to escape and following after Legolas. He went for the first choice though, deciding that although his hands were bound and mouth gagged, Frodo must have some form of comfort and not be left alone. Legolas however, could easily defend himself against one Elf.
"What in all the Valar...?" muttered Calaen. He looked slowly around the room, anger rising as he saw that the guards were empty handed. "What just happened here? Where is my brother?"
"Prince Calaen, I...we...Legolas...is not here," stammered a guard. "We tried to hold him back, but he got free. We could not see what happened then, so great was the chaos."
"Do you mean to say that one of my prisoners has escaped?" demanded Calaen, leaping forwards and violently shaking the guard who had spoken. "Are you saying that you cannot keep track of one single Elf, who might I add, is younger than all of you? Did he really slip past you?"
The guard bit his lip, but nodded all the same. "Yes, Prince Calaen. He could've left from any of the side doors, but the dimness of the room and the afore-mentioned chaos made it difficult for us to see."
"You are Elves and have Elven sight!" snarled Calaen. Cursing, he threw the unfortunate guard from him, and passed a hand through his hair. "Right, if it is not too hard for you, take the Ranger and Halfling back to their cell; it is no good doing anything whilst Legolas is not around to watch. Then come back here and split into groups to find my brother."
As Aragorn felt himself being pulled away in the direction of the door, his grey eyes flickered in confusion. Why would they want Legolas to witness whatever form of pain himself and Frodo would have been put through? Why was it so important for Legolas to watch something like that? Cursing in his mind, the Ranger realised that he could only hope and pray for his friend's freedom.
............................................................................................................
"Be quiet, I am not going to hurt you," hissed Brélamir, as Legolas tried in vain to get away. "I am only taking you to some friends of mine, who are...intrigued by you. They have heard many stories of Mirkwood's youngest Prince, but never have they met him. This is their chance, you see."
Legolas drew a sharp breath and without warning, slammed his elbow back into Brélamir's chest. Caught by surprise, the guard instinctively released his captive and doubled over, having had all the air knocked from him. The Prince spun around and struck Brélamir, before kicking him in his already hurting chest.
"You made a mistake in stealing me away," snarled Legolas, throwing Brélamir down to the ground and kneeling over him.
"Curse you to Mordor!" spat the guard.
Legolas narrowed his eyes as he felt Brélamir struggling, and put both hands on either side of the other Elf's head, only to slam it down hard on the stone floor. Brélamir moaned as he felt blood pooling around him, and reached down to grab a knife from his belt. This was seen though, and Legolas went to slam his head down once more. However, the Prince moved to quickly and sharply, and he froze in horror as a sudden sickening crack sounded.
"What have I done?" he breathed.
Brélamir had stopped struggling, eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was no need to examine him, for the strange and un-natural angle of his neck gave away the fact that he would never again move. He was dead, and Legolas was a murderer. After all the false accusations, there was finally some truth behind the evil word.
"Valar forgive me," whispered Legolas, slowly getting to his feet and taking a step back, gaze never leaving the motionless body. But he was no cold blooded killer; no matter what Brélamir's intentions had been, Legolas' only wish was to knock the other Elf out, so he could find his friends or at least escape and get help.
Biting his lip, Legolas suddenly darted forward and dropped to the ground next to Brélamir. He hated having to do this, to touch someone who just a few minutes back had been strong and healthy. But there seemed to be no choice. Legolas was weaponless, and to try and escape unarmed would be madness. Brélamir however, had two sets of knives tucked into his belt, all small, yet sharp enough to protect.
Just as he was about to gather the blades, a hand came out of nowhere, and settled itself on Legolas' shoulder. The Elf tensed and his eyes widened in fear, but he made no move to turn around. Instead, he pulled a knife from Brélamir's belt, reached behind him to grab the wrist connected to the hand, and with impressive strength, flipped the stranger over onto his back, all done in less than two seconds.
"I've killed once and I'll do it again," growled Legolas, fighting away the previous feelings of fear and guilt. He pressed the knife to his prisoner's throat, but started upon finding out that it was not an Elf.
"Not to me, you won't," retorted Farath, a strong, ashen haired man. He smiled as shadows moved above him, and Legolas was pulled away by some of his comrades. "Come, we'll take him into that room there, and wait until the time is right to leave."
"Who are you? And what do you-?
Legolas was swiftly cut off as a large, rough hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. So great was the size of the man's palm though, it also covered his nose, causing his breathing to become laboured. He was being forced to move forwards, and he instinctively tossed his head, though that made the hand across his mouth tighten. So, the Prince did something he had not done since he was an Elfling and an irritated Thranduil had tried to put him to bed.
"Why, you little..." cried the man, pushing Legolas from him as sharp teeth suddenly found their way into his hand.
"Shut up, fool, unless you want those Elves swooping down on us," hissed Farath, shooting his companion a dirty look, before kicking open a door and throwing Legolas inside.
The Elf could easily have kept his balance, but he chose to fall to the ground instead. There was a good reason for this though: Legolas did not wish anyone to see him slipping Brélamir's knife into his boot. It might look just a little suspicious if he were to casually reach down and do it under the eyes of the men, which he noted were glinting with...passionate mania? Even Calaen did not have eyes as cruel as these men. It was strange, disturbing, and as Legolas stood up, he found himself wishing that he had not hidden the knife.
"Well, well, well," said Farath slowly, stepping away from the group, and beginning to circle Legolas. "We have an Elf in our midst, an Elf different from any others. You see, men, this is the Greenleaf of Mirkwood, Thranduil's youngest child. This is what we have come for. And let me ask a question now. Are you all happy with this Elf? Does his beauty...please you?"
Legolas swallowed nervously as the men made low noises of confirmation, some of them laughing, others making audible comments about his pale complexion, ocean eyes and golden hair. Most of them appeared to go un- noticed by Farath, but he suddenly reached out and caught someone by the arm. It happened to be Pharunaic, the man who had been bitten by Legolas.
"Would you care to repeat what you just said?" asked Farath dangerously.
"Of course, Captain. All I said was that I have been blessed with a gift, for it's my hands that touched the Elf's fair face first," smirked Pharunaic. "Not many of you can say that, eh?"
"Not many of you will be saying anything if you don't shut your mouths and let me speak to the Elf," snapped Farath. He glared at his men for a moment, before snapping his eyes back to an apprehensive Legolas. "Am I right in believing that you have not yet been informed as to why you are here?"
The Prince inclined his head, trying to block out the sense of fear that was washing over him. "You are correct. Why not enlighten me?"
"Gladly. Now, we have made alliances with Calaen, and there are many who think that the only reason we have done so, is because we have been promised land, high titles and food for our people. We have, but that's not why we did it," said Farath. He paused for affect, smiling inwardly as Legolas clenched his fists.
"Come on, Captain, we grow impatient," said Pharunaic quietly.
Ignoring the comment, Farath stepped forward and put a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "You see, my dear Prince, all that we have wanted for a long time now...is you."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Legolas, eyes darkening.
"After all the time spent with Calaen, a trace of innocence remains," mused Farath. "So old, and yet so young. So experienced, yet still so naïve. Can you not see, Legolas? Am I not making myself clear? I will tell you then. As soon as the coast is clear, we will be leaving for our camp, and you will come with us, but Calaen will not know that. We first decided you would become our slave, but now I have seen your beauty, I have changed my mind.
At this, the men all drew sharp breaths, and two or three of them leaned forwards eagerly, for whatever their Captain had decided was news to them. Smiling, Farath pushed Legolas back against the wall, and positioned himself so that their faces were a mere three inches apart.
"We will keep you as our little toy," whispered the Captain, "for our own personal use of course."
Legolas' head snapped up as he realised exactly what was being implied, whilst Farath's grin widened, and he lazily trailed a hand down the Elf's exposed neck. "Yes, you will do just fine."
"I would die before acting as your...your plaything," spat Legolas, hitting Farath's hand away and dropping to the ground. His intentions were not revealed to the men until the glint of silver flashing through the air, caught their eyes.
Legolas raised his arm and swiftly brought it down across Farath's chest. Like quite a few Elven knives, this was not meant to kill, only wound, and that is exactly what it did. A crimson stain flowered on the front of Farath's shirt, but he ignored it and knocked the blade from Legolas' hand, although he ended up having his own fingers sliced.
"Your beauty conceals what is truly inside," hissed the Captain, curling his fist into a ball and throwing it into the side of Legolas' face. "That temper of yours will have to be forcefully driven away." With that, he nodded to his men standing against the walls, and they surged forwards like a wave on a rough night.
As soon as he realised what was happening, Legolas dropped to the ground once more, his hand darting out to grab the knife which Farath had thrown. That was a mistake though, for the men took advantage of the position he was it, and began harshly kicking him. As a heavy boot stamped on his wrist, the Elf vaguely recalled the same thing happening another time when he had tried to reach for a dropped weapon.
"Teach the Prince some manners!" roared Farath, forgetting that they were not yet back at camp, and were not supposed to make noise.
The men laughed wildly, and as Legolas tried to get up, one of them struck him across the head with the hilt of a sword. The Elf staggered slightly, giving his captors a perfect chance to push him down onto his knees, and dizzied by the blow, Legolas could not resist. One of the men reached down and grabbed him by the hair, deliberately digging their fingers into the new gash, forcing him to look up.
"You have just made a rather big mistake," said Farath quietly, holding up a hand for his men to fall quiet. "We could've been friends, Elf. But now you have ruined any chance of that. My comrades, my brothers! Do with him what you wish."
As Farath moved out of the way, Pharunaic knelt in front of Legolas, and roughly cupped the Elf's chin in his hands. "Oh yes, Captain. We will do...whatever we wish."
"Never, scum!" hissed Legolas, jerking his head away from the hands that held him still. Suddenly though, something heavy smashed down onto the back of the Prince's legs, and he could not help but cry out as excruciating pain exploded in him.
"And again. Make him realise that we do not make idle threats," said Farath calmly, not once looking up as he wrapped some cloth around his fingers. However he smiled, when he heard Legolas curse violently; he had just been dealt another harsh blow.
Pharunaic took something from his companions, and went to stand in front of Legolas again. "Look at this, Elf. Those were just warning shots, and the next time you try and struggle, it will be me dealing the blows. I am not so lenient as my friends, so be prepared."
Legolas slowly raised his eyes, and as his mind registered what kind of weapon had been used on him, his face paled. It was a club, akin to the type used by cave trolls, but obviously quite a bit smaller. It was a light grey colour, but what disturbed the Elf, were the specks of brown dotted on it: old, dried blood.
"Are you going to calm down?" asked Pharunaic quietly. His eyes glinted in anger when he got no reply. "Are you going to calm down, or am I going to have to use this on you again?" Still, no reply. "Do you have a death wish, Elf?"
The Prince stared defiantly up at Pharunaic, and curled his lip disdainfully. The reward for that though, was being clubbed twice in his stomach. Legolas fell forwards onto his hands as all the air was knocked from him and his breaths came raggedly, painfully. Golden hair hung down past his eyes, and as he rapidly inhaled and exhaled, some blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Is he still not talking?" asked Farath.
"No, Captain. Shall I carry on, or just leave it for a while?" asked Pharunaic, letting the club fall down to his side.
Farath rolled his eyes, and moved forwards to kneel next to Legolas. "Co- operation is something that we value highly in this group. Are you willing to do just that?" he asked, turning Legolas' face up.
"The souls of you and your men can burn in the depths of Mordor," said Legolas in a low voice.
"Ah, I was hoping you would say something a little less harsh than that," said Farath. "What is about to happen next is no-one's fault but your own. You had a chance to back down, Prince, but you didn't."
Almost regretfully, Farath pulled the weapon from Pharunaic's hands, and raised it high above his head. Elf and man locked eyes for a brief moment, before the club was brought crashing down.
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nilraen: Yes, Aradan *is* Calaen's child, poor guy! Calaen didn't adopt him; they are truly father and son.
Inwe Elendil: Well, I don't mind giving you Calaen to torture, but would you mind waiting until the story is finished? It wouldn't be helpful at all if one of my characters died before it's over!
Rachel13: I really don't know how you manage to come up with those! I think you'd be really good as a therapist as well! LOL Yeah, I like Pippin too. Don't worry, I won't do *that* much to him! I'm kidding. (I think)
elves_will_rule: You're damn right they will! Sorry, how random. But thanks for the compliment, it was really nice!
Maiden-Of-Tears: Cos my friend was reading my reviews and trying to guess where each person came from. She's weird, I know. She thought that you might have been from England. Just like, ignore her! I do!
Halimanya: Yeah, you're not the first person to say that Calaen is like Corelen. I didn't actually have him in mind when I started writing 'A Brother's Jealousy', and it wasn't until I was a couple of chapters in that I actually realised!
So sorry this chapter took like, forever to appear. I've had soooooo much revision to do for my stupid GCSE's in a few weeks, which I really don't wanna do. But I guess I don't have much choice. Anyway, sorry again for the delay *and* the evil cliffie, but the next chapter will definitely be up tomorrow. Luv Misto x-x