Part 3
Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, one of the Nine Walkers, had been in some very uncomfortable situations in his long life. He'd been caught filching biscuits from the palace kitchens one year, had climbed the snow capped peaks of Caradhras, and delved to the depths of Moria. He'd waded through orcs at both Helms Deep and the Pelennor Fields, and stood before the Black Gate of Mordor itself. However, none of these incidents discomfited him as much as his current circumstances.
He was sitting in accusing, impenetrable darkness, the iron collar encircling his neck chaffing the delicate skin there, and the seat of his breeches wet from sitting on the cold, damp, stone floor of the cellar for so long. He could not tell if the night had passed by completely or if Gimli, Frer, and Lenwe were already on their way to Faramir and some semblance of sanity or not. He hoped they were. He hoped they made it out of the village safely and would return on the second day as promised, for his patience with these mortals was wearing quite thin indeed.
He jerked his head up suddenly, the weight of the collar setting an ache in the muscles at the side of his neck, as his keen ears perceived movement in the hall above him. There were three sets of footsteps: two heavy and methodic, the other scuffling and jittery. The trio moved across the floor and to the stairs leading to his prison. It was not long before his eyes perceived the flickering, orange light of a torch, and soon the shadowed forms of the two brothers and the slighter shape of the justice followed.
The two larger men approached the cage silently with purpose in their eyes, as the justice hung back slightly behind them, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He looked... uneasy as one of the brothers produced a key and swung the cell door open, the other handing the torch back to the justice as he entered the cell.
"Try nothing foolish, elf," he barked in false bravado as he reached out to grab a handful of Legolas' hair, jerking his head back to gain better access to the lock on the collar.
"What is happening?" Legolas gritted out between clenched teeth, seething at the ill handling.
"You wish to quit this place, do you not?" the man removing the collar asked sweetly. "Your wish shall be granted."
"Really, Admar, Aden, I am not sure this is such a wise idea," the justice squeaked from his position outside the cell.
"You do not believe his crime is worthy of such treatment?" the other demanded as he passed a thick strip of black cloth to his brother.
"Well, yes, but truly, a tribunal would be much more appropriate. Following the rule of the law will absolve us of any wrong doing in the eyes of Lord Faramir and the King."
"His crime was perpetrated against our village, and it shall be the village that decides his fate." Hauling Legolas up to his feet, Admar or Aden - he did not know who bore which name - shoved him out into the waiting hands of the other. Held firmly by the upper arms, the elf was kept still by one man while the other came up from behind.
"Hurry and cover his eyes," the one holding him said. "I do not want to give him the chance to cast an enchantment."
As the blindfold was tied around his head Legolas began to struggle. "Ai, cease this folly, please! I have no powers of enchantment! I am no threat to you!"
Both brothers scoffed. "You shine like a star in the dark and have strength and speed far beyond those of mortal men. You can call the birds down from the trees and tame wild beasts with songs and strange words. If these are not enchantments, I know not what they are," one said.
"If you fear my bond with good beasts, then you fear in vain, for while you are animals, you are not akin to them." He paused then cocked his head to the side. "And if you fear the power of my voice, then why is it you cover my eyes and not my lips?"
A snarl was his only reply, and then he was led away towards what he assumed were the stairs. He could feel the heat from the justice's torch preceding the way and tread carefully as he reached the steps so as not to trip and fall. The large hands upon his arms were not removed, but tightened further, their owner guiding him along with bruising force.
He sensed immediately when they passed from the stairwell to the open hall itself, for the air was much warmer and sweeter despite the mustiness of the room. Without delay he was further directed out of the hall and into the bright morning. Once more out of doors, he took a deep cleansing breath of air, though it pained him that he could not see the sky or the sunlight but only feel its warmth upon his face. He could hear more people milling about, murmurs buzzing in his ears, as his hands were pulled out in front of him and his wrists tightly bound. Matters were deteriorating quickly, it would seem.
"What are your intentions?" he asked calmly as he was maneuvered around to stand with his back flush against what he took to be a large stake set in the ground. Such a post had not been set there the day before, he was sure of it.
"When you violated my sister, you violated this entire village. Therefore, it is their censure you will face this day," was the reply as Legolas' bound hands were jerked above his head and secured to the post.
"Yet you will not allow me to look my accusers in the eye as they cast their scorn upon me!"
"You will not need your eyes to feel their score," the man snickered and stepped back.
The first blow took the elf by complete surprise. He was ill prepared for the stone which whistled through the air and struck him hard upon the thigh. He could not see, therefore could not know it was coming. To make matter worse, the constant movement of people about the village square prevented him from pinpointing any sudden movements which might indicate from what direction an attack would come. The next projectile grazed his cheek, but was not hard like a rock, but soft and wet like spoiled fruit. When it brushed past his face, leaving a sticky trail, he jerked back in astonishment, unable to contain his cry of dismay. The crowd about him hummed at the sound of his voice.
It was the least trying of his ordeals that day.
The entire day without rest he was forced to stand, staked out by the hall of justice, the rising sun beating down on him unmercifully, as the village people came and went, passing by on their business. The constant stress of not knowing when and from which direction the next insult would be hurled wearied him. Many threw stones and foul smelling food at him, bruising his face and chest and soiling his cloths and hair. Children giggled and squealed as they ran past, kicking him about the legs or pulling on his hair hard enough to make his scalp ache. He mourned for them while thinking sadly that they would not be using it for nests.
But in the end it was being spat upon which aggrieved him the most. Men and women would slowly walk past or circle around him like wolves close enough to spit saliva or chewed up pipe weed upon him. Such actions were usually accompanied by horrible curses and slurs, many of which he did not understand nor wished to.
He was sore in both body and soul by the time the sun began to dip, his voice hoarse from pleading with his unseen assailants and the endless Sindarin songs he sang to himself for comfort. Wishing for nothing more than an ice cold bath in a forest stream where none from the race of men had ever tread, he slumped down slightly, allowing his eyes to lose focus on the black wall before him, his mind let to wander… winging to that stream if only in dreams.
While it is true they left him standing out in the chilled spring night, a state of affairs which would have been uncomfortable for a mortal, Legolas was grateful for it, for at least he was not collared and chained in the cellar like a cur. Staked out by the hall of justice, he could at least breathe in the moderately fresh air of the men's village and listen to the quiet of the night
without having to bear the brunt of the people's scorn. While earlier in the evening a few men heavy with drink had made sport of him, and what sounded like a rat or two scuffled about his feet, no doubt picking at the spoiled fruit and such which littered the area around him, no other annoyances plagued him, and he was left alone. Whilst he could not see the stars, he imagined he could feel their pallid light twinkling down upon him or hear their song.
He had survived the day relatively unscathed in view of the circumstances, and considered himself lucky the mob of people had not seen fit to stone him to death. He was not certain, but he thought he felt the eyes of his accuser on him more than once, and wondered if she had spent the day watching her people debase him. If she did, he liked to think she did so out of regret; that she felt some remorse for what she had brought down upon him.
Whatever the case, his trial was nearly over. Gimli had promised to return on the second day, and as he felt the sun begin to struggle past the horizon, heralding dawn, his spirit lifted. Gimli had never broken a promise to him, and therefore he would come. Legolas only hoped it would be soon; he did not wish to spend the better part of this day being spat upon and cursed.
Movement to his left, the rustling of clothes, caught his attention, and he tensed in anticipation. Instead of feeling the impact of a pebble, the heat of a small body seeped into his side as someone leaned in to speak quietly to him.
"Are you awake, Master elf?" a feminine voice whispered, and it took a moment for Legolas to realize it was his accuser.
"Yes," he replied simply, curious as to what she had to say to him.
There was a long pause, the hesitancy in the girl obvious. "It is said that your kind can die without serious wound, but from force of will alone," she finally offered.
Legolas blinked behind the blindfold in surprise. "Our souls may choose to flee our bodies if our heart pains us too much, yes, if that is what you mean."
"Then I suggest you begin grieving with all haste, for t'would be better for you if you passed beyond this world on terms of your own making," she suggested.
"Why do you say such things?" Legolas asked in alarm.
A small hand was clamped over his mouth, and the girl shushed him in alarm, obviously not wanting to attract attention to them. "Quiet! I overheard my brothers enlisting some men to dig a pit just outside of the village; I believe it to be your grave. They begin at first light and will no doubt complete their task by mid-day. Once this is done, I know not how they intend to end your life, but for a crime such as you have been condemned, I doubt very much it shall be quick or painless."
"But I have committed no such crime!" Legolas whispered firmly when she removed her hand. "You know this well, yet you will allow them to kill me for it."
"My brothers steer the course of your fate now, not I," she told him. "I hoped you would escape before now, that your dwarf friend would whisk you away, but you gave yourself over willingly and will not use your magic and therefore suffer."
Legolas bristled visibly. "Do not attempt to lay the blame upon me, girl. This is entirely your doing. Yet still you cling to the notion I hold some sort of power, when you well know it is a lie."
Before she could form a reply to his words, an angry voice interrupted.
"Martia! Get away from him!" her father's voice cut through the pre-dawn air.
Legolas could feel the girl's body being ripped away from him; a stinging open-palmed slap to the side of his head and ear followed. Heat rushed to the wounded ear, his pulse thrumming at its tip.
"What are you doing to her, you swine!"
"Nothing, father!" the girl pleaded. "I simply wished to look upon him without fear, for look how helpless he is!"
The man took a few deep calming breaths before speaking again. "I told you to stay well away from him. We do not know what he is capable of. Why look!" he exclaimed. "His bruises already fade! He is most likely drawing energy from the people around him to heal himself!" he continued, horrified at the thought. He even took a large step back, away from where Legolas was tied, as if a few more feet between them would help matters. "Quickly, run and tell the people with babes to move them as far away from the center of town as possible. Young ones are weaker and may die if their life force is drained away for the benefit of this monster."
Legolas could not prevent his lip from curling in disgust. What did these people see when they looked upon him, Sauron himself? Insinuating he would slay children as well as violate young girls. How had the honor of the elves fallen so greatly in the minds of men that such thoughts could even come to fruition?
He heard the girl run away, intent of spreading the word of his new life draining abilities no doubt, leaving him alone with her father.
"You will be punished today, elf," he spat. "The first to warrant such a fate in the memory of even the oldest men here."
"If you do this thing, you will be guilty of murder, and Lord Faramir and the king will be forced to punish YOU instead," Legolas informed him.
"We follow our own ancient laws and do not fear Faramir or Elessar. They may govern this land, but they do not hold sway over our own affairs."
"If you believe these things then you are fools. You speak of ancient laws, which were no doubt unwritten at the birth of even the youngest of my kind, and of a punishment the oldest men here have not witnessed, but whose lives are but a blink of mine eye. I walked this earth before this village was a thought, and hail from a kingdom which stood long before the very thrown of Gondor was forged! I may die by your hand, but it is you who has no sway over me."
"Brave words," said the man. "But we shall see how superior you are when you come face to face with your end." And with that he walked away.
As the sun continued its assent across the sky and the day progressed, no one passed by the bound elf. He thought they may be frightened of venturing too near in case he drained their energy to bolster himself. He smirked. If he survived this he would have to tell his father of this new Elven gift. He was certain he would find it amusing and would most likely encourage its belief, thinking that if men feared the elves they would leave them well alone. That was perhaps true, but it might also be turned to their disadvantage as it had in this place. Fear bred contempt and suspicion and could lead to violence. If men felt threatened by the remaining fair folk, they might very well attempt to get rid of them by any means necessary. Most likely such a scenario would not occur under Aragorn's rule, but once he passed, the chances increased greatly. Perhaps it truly was for the best, he thought, that Valinor called to them more and more with each passing season. They would leave these shores of their own free will and not loose their lives in the wake of men's fear.
There was still no sign of Gimli, Lenwe, and Faramir.
The sun was directly over his head when a group of people finally approached him.
"Riders have been spotted in the distance," one of the girl's brothers informed him. "Your friends have come to help you it would seem."
"For your sakes, please wait for their arrival, and this can be settled properly under the eye of the Steward," Legolas attempted to appeal to there common sense one last time.
"We will not be denied, justice," an unfamiliar voice yelled. "We have decided your fate, and you shall meet it, Steward or no!"
There were rumblings of assent amongst the crowd.
"Come, quickly, this must be done before they arrive."
A group of men surged forward and began to extricate Legolas from the stake. They unhooked his arms and lowered them to be retied behind his back. The muscles and joints screamed their protest, and the elf had to bite his lip to stifle a groan. Hustled and jostled around, he was prodded and pulled up into a wagon which waited nearby, two men mounting behind him for company. A driver leapt up as well and clucked to the horse, jerking the wagon into motion. The crowd could be heard following after them, a long train of morbidity tailing behind the condemned.
It was not long before they reached wherever it was they were going. It was a small settlement after all. Pulled from the back of the wagon, Legolas' shod feet touched down upon grass instead of stone or the dirt paths of the village proper. He sighed at the feel of the blades beneath his feet, but his joy was short lived as he detected the scent of freshly churned earth in the air.
Without preamble, a signaling cheer from the crowd prompted an unceremonious shove against his chest hard enough to send him tumbling. His breath caught in his throat as he fell much farther than he expected, and he landed hard on his back. Stunned, his lungs paralyzed for a spell, it took him a moment to realize he felt soil beneath his hands and not grass. Rolling to the right, his shoulder came into contact with what felt like a dirt wall; rolling to the left found the same. The first dredges of panic were beginning to form as Legolas concluded he'd been tossed into the hole the girl said was to be his grave.
Ai, Elbereth, no! Struggling to sit up and make an attempt to worm his way out of the pit, his heart rate increased ten fold.
"Grab the ends tightly, boys, then pull up at the same time," someone instructed from above him.
Realizing he would get little done if he could not see, Legolas rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to dislodge the blindfold. He managed to pull down the side, a frantic blue eye peering up at the shadowed shapes hovering around the edge of the hole, the sun lighting the world from behind.
It was then that he broke, for a deluge of heavy, damp soil began to rain upon him. The men had pilled the dirt onto sheets of canvas laid out on both sides of the pit, which they now took hold of, and by lifting one end forced the dirt to slide back from whence it came. Only now there was a body within. A live one.
A particularly hard clod of earth struck Legolas in the head, and he fell back once more, dazed. He laid there, a voice screaming in Sindarin, pleading for mercy he knew the race of men did not have, echoing in his ears. He could not be buried alive! He could not. He would do as the girl advised: he would rend his heart from his own chest and allow his spirit to escape to Mandos before he would allow dirt to blacken his eyes and fill his mouth.
But of course such an endeavor would take concentration, something he had very little of at the moment. He was panicking and could do nothing for it. Wriggling around in the suffocating blanket of earth amassing around his sides, blinking grains of muck from his eyes and spitting it from his mouth, he could do nothing!
The girl's father had been right. This was not the dignity of the Eldar which filled him this day. He was not behaving as a prince of his people should. Instead he was sobbing and twisting about as Gollum once had - a contemptible creature worthy of neither pity nor aid.
The men seemed to have reach the apex of their endeavor, for one final heave brought the majority of he earth down over him, enveloping him and blotting out the world above. His ears plugged, and his limbs were weighed down useless. As he watched the soil rain down, he thrust his shoulders and face up in one last desperate attempt to take a breath, as if he could become an arrow and fly from the pit into the sky.
As were most of his deeds these past few days, it was in vain.
His last thoughts before he allowed his mind to scatter like flushed fowl from a field was that Gimli had not come in time, and that there was no goodness left in the hearts of men.
