Darkness was all he knew. For hours upon hours darkness, movement and pain engulfed him. How he was captured, he knew not. Hands and blades were all he could remember before his world went black as a blow caught the back of his head.
He was on his daily patrol fully alert and aware. He heard them coming, many of them; too many. He emptied his quiver far too fast for his liking as they ascended, each one of his arrows the owner of a corpse. His twin knives felt heavy in his hands, and were soon lying bloodied on the forest floor. Once unarmed, a wave of hands surrounded him, punching and grabbing. And a blade pressed to his throat stopped his struggles until another smacked against the back of his head, sending a huge shock of pain through his body before he saw and felt no more.
But he awoke still in darkness; the only recognition of consciousness was the pain that throbbed in his head and the movement beneath him. He sensed horses, being an elf, and men. He was on his stomach, slung over the back of a horse with a hand resting on his bound hands behind his back. Blindfolded he was and gagged, ankles bound as well. He dare not stir for fear of what it might cause. So he lay there limply; barely feeling the calloused fingers stroke his bound hands, for the pain in his head was unbearable.
They were slowing to a halt. The stillness lessened the pain slightly. The hand on his back left momentarily, leaving behind a warm patch of which the cold was invading. He relaxed a bit, but not for long as he was pulled off the back of the horse and dragged over a small clearing. The hands left him again and traveled to the back of his head. He quickly shut his eyes when he felt fingers probing and pulling on the knot of his blindfold, wincing as some hairs were pulled from his head.
As the blindfold was removed a flood of light filled his closed eyes. It took all his self-control not to show his discomfort, but he soon grew accustomed to the light. He then realized that the man was still standing over him. A tremour formed in his spine and spread through his body. Unfortunately, the man noticed the tremour and decided the elf was awake.
'Boromir,' the man called to Boromir who was unsaddling his horse.
'What is it, Faramir?' he leaned his saddle against a tree and paced over to Faramir and the bound elf.
'He's awake,' by this time the elf opened his eyes to stare at the two men.
Boromir looked down at the elf and stared into the deep pools that were his eyes. Full of hatred and loathing Boromir mused, as the elf didn't even know him.
Boromir knelt down beside the elf and a hint of fear formed in his deep blue eyes, but was quickly concealed as Boromir continued to stare.
'It seems he is,' he whispered as his hand came down to clear the elf's face of his white-gold hair.
The elf jerked away from the motion and scowled at Boromir through his gag earning him a hard kick to the ribs.
'Do not question me, elf!' Boromir spat out the word 'elf' as a curse. 'You are my prisoner, and you will soon learn to respect me.'
/I will never respect you or any other man. You are cruel and heartless beings. Whips and binds will never make me submit my soul./
The elf curled himself up so as to protect his stomach from any more blows.
'Make sure he doesn't move,' Boromir ordered Faramir as he stormed off. Faramir looked down at the balled up elf with pity in his eyes. Men had hated elves for centuries. The elves thought they were better than men, fairer, wiser, and more reasonable. Men and elves basically stayed away from each other, but when a foe came into the other's realm they would show no mercy towards them, man and elf alike. This elf is a captive of a failed battle attempt. The men set out from Gondor to Mirkwood in an attempt to overcome the small realm. But this elf killed off most of Boromir's men and prevented him from doing anything. Faramir did not like the idea of taking an elf captive even if he did kill his bother's men. Elves should be respected, for they are the wisest and fairest of all creatures that dwell on Middle Earth; this one was especially beautiful. Long, platinum hair flowed down to his mid back that was fanned out beneath him; the warrior's braids perfectly matched his stern and fierce yet beautiful face. His skin had the look of creamy softness that was not found in men and his eyes deep pools of stormy blue.
Faramir saw in those eyes fear, pain, and loathing, making the most pitiful look from a prisoner he had ever seen.
Then, the elf's struggles started anew. He wrenched his shoulders wildly trying to free his bound hands and only succeeding to tighten the rope cutting into his wrists.
Faramir did not have the heart to hurt the thrashing elf, so he tried to calm him by stroking the elf's hair and whispering soothing words.
Panting hard around his gag, the elf submitted to the reassuring motion, resting his head on the soft grass with a defeated sigh.
Faramir could not hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes; elves weren't meant to be captives.
The elf saw Faramir's eyes water. /Why do you cry for me? For I am but a mere prisoner in the hands of cruel men… I need not your pity, for I am a warrior of Mirkwood and son of Thranduil./
'Faramir!' Faramir's hand quickly recoiled from the golden head as if burned. 'Why do you show comfort towards the elf?! He is a prisoner and is to be treated as such. Show him who is the master,' Boromir's voice was menacing as he strode towards Faramir.
Faramir looked down at the elf again and saw the most beautiful pleading look.
'No,' whispered Faramir still staring at the elf.
'If you won't, I will,' said Boromir in a promising voice.
'No! I won't and you won't either!' Faramir pushed Boromir away from Legolas and stood over him as protection.
Boromir's eyes blazed with anger. He shoved Faramir out of the way of the elf and pulled Legolas up by a fistful of hair. Then a dagger flashed in his hand.
'You will not defy my position again,' Faramir started toward Boromir but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the dagger pressed against the elf's throat.
Legolas stiffened as he felt the cold steel blade digging into his throat, threatening to end his life. He desperately pleaded Faramir with his eyes not to come closer.
Faramir looked from Boromir's to Legolas's eyes, seeing the desperate look in the elf's beautiful eyes and his brother's fierce gaze that pierced Faramir's soul. With a sigh he turned and walked to where his horse stood waving its head in impatience.
Boromir snickered maliciously in Legolas's ear and whispered, 'Just wait, elf, for the other surprises we have in store for you.' And with that he let go of Legolas's hair and let him drop to the ground in a heap of limbs and hair.
/And so begins my life of misery./
A/N
I hope you enjoyed it for the most part. Please don't kill me if my updates are… inconsistent, for lack of a better word. Reviews spur me on, fyi. So yeah, hope to hear from you!
Live long, die fighting