Chapter Three
~For general ramblings see first chapter.~
When this began
I had nothing to say
And I'd get lost in the nothingness inside of me
I was confused
And I'd let it all out to find
That I'm not the only person with these things in mind
Inside of me
When all the vacancy the words revealed
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel
Nothing to loose
Just stuck, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own and the fault is my own
I wanna heal
I wanna feel
What I thought was never real
I want to let go of the pain I felt so long
Erase all the pain till its gone
I wanna heal
I wanna feel
Like Im close to something real
I want to find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong - Linkin Park "Somewhere I belong"
~*~
"One last time, who are you?"
"Doesn't matter, just let me go." His antagonism was rising to grave heights.
"Where are the rest of you?"
"You honestly think I'm going to tell you?" He almost laughed.
"It would be easier if you would. on all of us. Now tell me where your little rouge friends are."
"Were not rouges! We never did anything to anyone, do just listen to rumors? What kind of king are you?"
Rage exploded in Thranduil, not thinking he raised his arm to back hand the prisoner, but an arm came up stopping the wallop. The sleeve of the captive fell passed his elbow in this act, and a sickening, grotesque, and lengthy scar was exposed.
It was very long, trailing from his wrist to the middle of his upper arm. It was old, but ruff, large stitches still held the two severed pieces of flesh together.
** The pain filled cry filled Thranduil's ears as the steel sunk in and the warm blood began to flow.**
The prisoner stepped pack from the king, his eyes full of menace.
** His left arm throbbed mercilessly. Taking a look at it he tried not to grimace at it. Desiccated blood crusted all-around the laceration, it had to be sewn up or he would bleed to death.
Sitting next a stream he found a somewhat sharp pointed piece of rock. Hitting it against another rock it became like a needle, but it was not as sharp as most needles, but would have to do. Tearing a stitch out of the sleeve of his tunic, he loosened the thread until it came out. Repeating this procedure several times until he had all he needed, he tied them together, and knotted the other end several times. Securing one end of the thread to the end of the makeshift needle he prepared himself for the rough part.
Placing the sharpest end against his skin, he ground his teeth and gasped from pain as the tip sunk into his flesh.
Feeling around under his skin to keep track of where the needle was, he worked it up his arm in a crisscross configuration. With holding his screams as he got to the sensitive crux of his joint, the blood still gushed from the unsown part on his tricep.
Finally it was done, panting he looped the needle into a pervious stitch and tightened it into a knot, then broke off the left over thread with his teeth. The bleeding finally stopped and he washed his burning arm in the steam's welcoming, crystal, and cool water.
Tearing off what was left of his left sleeve and wrapped up the suture. His vision was blurry from blood loss, and, finally, he yielded to his body's wanting, and blacked out.**
~*~
His eyes still had there cold, menacing look, but with a flash of revelation, Thranduil's mind went to painting that hung in his chambers, it was a picture of his wife who had died centuries ago. Her eyes, slivery- gray.
"Who are you?" He asked again.
The captive exhaled deeply. "You have a scar on your right shoulder." He said.
"How do you know that?"
"I gave it to you, remember, the night you almost killed me? I grabbed the dagger off the wall."
Thranduil was stunned into silence, but found one name.
"Legolas?"
"Hello Father."
~For general ramblings see first chapter.~
When this began
I had nothing to say
And I'd get lost in the nothingness inside of me
I was confused
And I'd let it all out to find
That I'm not the only person with these things in mind
Inside of me
When all the vacancy the words revealed
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel
Nothing to loose
Just stuck, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own and the fault is my own
I wanna heal
I wanna feel
What I thought was never real
I want to let go of the pain I felt so long
Erase all the pain till its gone
I wanna heal
I wanna feel
Like Im close to something real
I want to find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong - Linkin Park "Somewhere I belong"
~*~
"One last time, who are you?"
"Doesn't matter, just let me go." His antagonism was rising to grave heights.
"Where are the rest of you?"
"You honestly think I'm going to tell you?" He almost laughed.
"It would be easier if you would. on all of us. Now tell me where your little rouge friends are."
"Were not rouges! We never did anything to anyone, do just listen to rumors? What kind of king are you?"
Rage exploded in Thranduil, not thinking he raised his arm to back hand the prisoner, but an arm came up stopping the wallop. The sleeve of the captive fell passed his elbow in this act, and a sickening, grotesque, and lengthy scar was exposed.
It was very long, trailing from his wrist to the middle of his upper arm. It was old, but ruff, large stitches still held the two severed pieces of flesh together.
** The pain filled cry filled Thranduil's ears as the steel sunk in and the warm blood began to flow.**
The prisoner stepped pack from the king, his eyes full of menace.
** His left arm throbbed mercilessly. Taking a look at it he tried not to grimace at it. Desiccated blood crusted all-around the laceration, it had to be sewn up or he would bleed to death.
Sitting next a stream he found a somewhat sharp pointed piece of rock. Hitting it against another rock it became like a needle, but it was not as sharp as most needles, but would have to do. Tearing a stitch out of the sleeve of his tunic, he loosened the thread until it came out. Repeating this procedure several times until he had all he needed, he tied them together, and knotted the other end several times. Securing one end of the thread to the end of the makeshift needle he prepared himself for the rough part.
Placing the sharpest end against his skin, he ground his teeth and gasped from pain as the tip sunk into his flesh.
Feeling around under his skin to keep track of where the needle was, he worked it up his arm in a crisscross configuration. With holding his screams as he got to the sensitive crux of his joint, the blood still gushed from the unsown part on his tricep.
Finally it was done, panting he looped the needle into a pervious stitch and tightened it into a knot, then broke off the left over thread with his teeth. The bleeding finally stopped and he washed his burning arm in the steam's welcoming, crystal, and cool water.
Tearing off what was left of his left sleeve and wrapped up the suture. His vision was blurry from blood loss, and, finally, he yielded to his body's wanting, and blacked out.**
~*~
His eyes still had there cold, menacing look, but with a flash of revelation, Thranduil's mind went to painting that hung in his chambers, it was a picture of his wife who had died centuries ago. Her eyes, slivery- gray.
"Who are you?" He asked again.
The captive exhaled deeply. "You have a scar on your right shoulder." He said.
"How do you know that?"
"I gave it to you, remember, the night you almost killed me? I grabbed the dagger off the wall."
Thranduil was stunned into silence, but found one name.
"Legolas?"
"Hello Father."