Pippin felt sick. He knew where Legolas was now: in the cell adjacent to his and Merry's. Part of him was glad of that; there was comfort in being together. But at the same time he wished they were far, far apart, so that he wouldn't have to hear the horrible sounds of whips cracking, iron boots connecting, swords whistling through the air, and the harsh, cruel Orkish laughter. Why had he ever left the Shire? The green hills, the cozy hobbit-holes, the sweet simplicity of life…why had he left? He could be there right now, snug in his chair by the fire, or strolling through the woods in the brisk air. Instead…he was here. Here in a cold, dark, dank cell, where his only companions were an unconscious Hobbit and an Elf in the process of being tortured whom he couldn't even see. He sank deeper and deeper into his dark thoughts, melancholy threatening to overwhelm him. Why had he ever left the Shire?
"Pip?" whispered a voice behind him. "What are those awful sounds?"
Pippin turned to gaze at his friend. Merry looked terrible. A swelling, bleeding lump on the side of his forehead sent blood trickling into one eye; his face was pale and dirty; his clothes were scuffed and torn.
"It's Legolas," Pippin answered, haunted. "They're beating him."
Pain and exhaustion forgotten, the other hobbit jumped up and ran to the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Legolas? Legolas! Legolas!" He turned beseechingly to Pippin, and to his surprise, the latter saw tears in his fellow's eyes. "We have to help him. Can't we do something?"
The Took was about to respond—though what he would have said, he didn't know—when a section of the wall in front of them wavered and disappeared. Replacing that area was an enormous image—of Saruman. "Watch and learn, little Halflings," it said, and then the picture shifted. Now they could see into the next cell, and the sight shocked them into immobility:
Legolas lay curled up on the floor, facing the hobbits and surrounded by four Orcs, all of whom held whips or swords. Those instruments had not been idle. Lashes crisscrossed the side and arm that were turned up to his captors, punctuated by a shallow gash from a sword every now and again. His shielding tunic was ripped to shreds in those areas. Now it served no purpose but to soak up the blood that ran from his wounds. Bruises blossomed like evil flowers all along his body, visible between shreds of cloth. The Uruks had been quick to add iron boots and gauntleted fists to their weapons' list. A particularly vicious-looking bruise on his rib cage indicated a broken bone. Blood and filth soiled the golden hair, and agony glazed his sapphire eyes. He had a split lip and a black eye; the cut on his cheek had reopened. But he still did not make a sound.
Merry dashed to his feet and hurled himself at the image. Instead of running to the archer's side as he had intended, he crashed straight into an invisible wall and dropped to his knees. Watch and learn, little Halflings, said a voice in their heads. Saruman!
The Istar stood impassively to one side, supervising the beating. Something akin to a sadistic grin lifted one corner of his bearded mouth as he watched.
Still on his knees, Merry placed his hands on the wall and shoved, harder, harder, harder, as though by exerting enough force he could reach through and stop the archer's torment. "Legolas!"
Astonishingly, the archer lifted his head from the floor at the sound of Merry's cry. Pippin caught a glimmer of hope in the Elf's eyes before the biggest Orc cracked his whip downwards again, adding yet another bright red streak, and Legolas curled up again to protect himself.
My apologies, said Saruman's voice in Merry's head. I'm afraid that won't work. For though you can see and hear him, he cannot see or hear you. Did you catch sight of that newest lash? That was your fault, Master Meriadoc. You cried out; you made him look up. It was because of you.
Merry reeled slightly. That's not true! his own mind cried out in shock. You're wrong!
Am I? asked Saruman silkily. Believe what you wish. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.
With that, the Istar paced away from his space in the corner and spoke a harsh, guttural phrase. Obediently the four Uruks yanked the Elf to his feet and slammed him against the wall, holding him in place with manacles conjured from thin air. When they were done, Saruman waved them off and stepped forward, black staff in one hand. He eyed the beaten archer with no small amount of satisfaction as he removed a curved dagger from within the folds of his robes.
Slowly, Legolas lifted his head to glare at the wizard. "'Kshlóki lle," he slurred, blood following every word from his battered mouth.
Saruman slapped him across the face with the flat of the dagger, intentionally lessening the angle so that the blade sliced a shallow cut in passing. The Elf's head cracked against the wall and he slumped.
The Istar began to pace with the air of a disappointed but loving father. "Do you know what you could become?" he asked rhetorically, not really expecting an answer from the half-conscious archer. But his voice…sweet as honey, soothing, benevolent…
Legolas felt himself falling under the spell. He tried to shake himself free, but his wounded body could not front the energy. Perhaps Mithrandir was wrong…perhaps Saruman was no enemy. Yes, that must be it. And the Elves were enemies too, wicked, false creatures that they were. All the wizard wanted was to cleanse Arda. Would he help? Of course, the archer almost said. But something warned him against it, some inner instinct that was hidden too deep for Saruman's trickery to influence. And now the Elf could hear the Istar speaking words unshielded by the spell. Cleanse Arda? Indeed! What the wizard really wanted was to purge all the lands, destroy everything that was good in Middle-Earth. Would he help!
"…assist me if I so asked?" the traitor was saying.
Even through the agonized haze that permeated every fiber of his being, Legolas managed to raise his sapphire eyes to meet the Istar's own. Cold, black, and empty, they were, and the Elf could not help but shudder inwardly at their utter malice. But he was still able to choke out four words:
"Vanwa—ba'quenatamin, dhaeraow!"
ειδαсαг
Boromir started slightly, as though he'd fallen asleep for a split second, and then his eyes lost focus and glassed over. He slumped to the ground.
Sam, too, froze as if struck. "What're you doing?" he demanded furiously. "He's hurt, can't you see?! 'Ow's that going to 'elp 'im?"
Gimli placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Master Samwise—his arm is broken, and badly at that, and there is no way for Aragorn to set it without Boromir bringing every Uruk in these hills upon our heads with his cries."
Aragorn said nothing, grimly continuing to tear strips from a blanket to serve as bandages. Brusquely, he ordered Frodo to collect six arrows from the dead beast. When the hobbit did so, the Ranger took them in hand and with a brutal crack forced Boromir's arm back into place. Frodo looked slightly sickened at the sound. Snapping off the heads and fletchings, Aragorn used the arrow shafts as splints, binding them tightly to the Gondorean's arm. Small puddles of blood were pooling on the ground when he had finished.
After the broken bone was taken care of, the Ranger moved onto the three parallel gashes made by the now-dead flyer's talons. More blanket strips. And still more. The wounds would not stop bleeding.
By the time he reached the third one, the dressing on the first was already turning crimson.
ειδαсαг
Saruman lashed out at the defiant Elf with the butt of his black staff, raising yet another bruise on the creature's fair skin.
"Clearly, Master Elf," the Istar hissed, all trace of polish and perfection gone from his voice, "you were not listening. I command you, join me!"
Still conscious—barely—Legolas felt a wave of loathing. "Autllië miqul-liantë, ar'estelamín cárakta sakkat sauralambellë tuulo'antollë!"
The wizard's face darkened with rage, but when he spoke, it was softly, silkily—menacingly so. "Are you certain? I must admit, I am disappointed. Elves are said to have keen ears, though apparently you do not. I believe I must attend to that." The curved dagger he had drawn before reappeared in his clawlike hand as he advanced upon the helpless Elf, fingers crooking in a cabalistic sign.
The archer saw him advance, but when he tried to twist free of the shackles he found himself unable to move so much as a muscle. Evidently Saruman's hand sign had not been without purpose. He tried once more, and then again, to struggle, each time without success, each time more frantically.
The wizard's approach was slow and inexorable. Saruman grinned sadistically as he grabbed a handful of blonde hair and viciously yanked the golden head to one side. The motion exposed the tip of one delicately pointed ear.
The dagger's curve would fit nicely to that point.
The cold metal blade played back and forth over the ear as Saruman commented, "Last chance," releasing the spell just enough for the creature to answer.
"Never," the Elf whispered.
And like a searing line of icy fire, the dagger sliced through his flesh.
ειδαсαг
This time Legolas could not hold back his cry of pain. Elven ears were incredibly sensitive; and to have one actually cut off…it hurt like all the demons of Morgoroth. He felt sick. The world spun about him; there was a roaring in his ears—all the voices of madness were screaming again. And worst of all, he could hear his father once more.
Ada! he cried in his mind. Ada, no—stop! I beg of you, whoever you are that is tormenting my father, please let him go! I will do anything you ask! Anything!
Just before Saruman snapped his fingers, jolting the archer out of his nightmare, he felt a flicker of consciousness awaken and begin to respond to his promise. Black…slow…evil.
Then the shackles vanished, and the paralysis spell with them. The Elf fell to the cold stone floor, clutching at his ripped ear, swallowing bile.
"I believe I will keep this," he heard Saruman say thoughtfully. He looked up in time to see the Istar toss and catch a small triangular shape—
The world spun again. Blackness hovered at the edges of his vision.
As Saruman and the Uruks exited the cell, leaving the Elf lying in a growing pool of his own blood, Legolas broke down and wept.
ειδαсαг
phew! well, that was fun. i want you all to know, i seriously enjoyed that. now i'm in a really good mood. but torture scenes tend to do that to me…o well. i'd forgotten how much i loved doing these.
translations:
1) "Evil snake."
2) "Over—my dead body, traitor!"
3) "Go kiss a spider, and may its pincers tear your foul tongue from your mouth!" (this is actually a direct quote from book one of The Dark Elf Trilogy, which is one of my favorite books, believe it or not. *snerk*)
yes! reviews! the bestest part! and i want to say a big, huge, enormous, etc. thank you to lady v for putting me in her fic. *falls on knees in gratitude* liss, jarlaxle says thank you too (tho u already knew that). thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou... maybe i'll just stop there…but thank you. and yes, my reviews are way out of order, but i'm just writing em as i see em:
Karri—well done characterizations? yes! i win! to all you people who said i was out of character, i say nyah! point for me! but anyway…thanks vera much for reading; glad you liked it!
Witchmaster—long chapters. i seem to be having trouble with those. this was definitely the longest one so far…and the most fun, i might add, which probably explains it. *sigh* i'm a sucker for torture. (as tho u hadn't already noticed)
Aarien—pssst to you too! o. oops. that's what i meant to say…i mean, of course i knew that, i was just testing you! slipping, is it? i'll show you slipping…(now's when you flee)
lil*bee—poor legolas?! i did not just hear you say that. poor legolas, indeed! thbbbb! *sticks out tongue, trails off into grumbling* poor legolas…poor legolas my fundament!
Aireroswen—sank yuh vera muchly! sadistic bitch, is it? well, can't say i haven't heard myself called the same…o well…it's the price we pay for being the way we are, isn't it *sigh* but so be it.
falcon—woohoo! i win again! *blush* now, what should i do next? o yes…the whip-thing…(ask liss, she knows)
X Moonchik—*thank you lady v* well i hope u can read the rest of it soon, cuz i've got some big plans…nice and angsty, too.
Sake Girl Duelist—wow, six reviews? *blushes, feels vera special* how is it that u have this much time on your hands? For the life of me, i cant seem to get more than five minutes a day! (which would be when i sleep, of course) but thank you, and i'll try to check out your fic when i can.
Valimalirit—mainly legolas angst? well, yes, but i plan to incorporate pain from/for all characters. it's more fun that way, see. any ideas?
Keeper of Seas—another 'poor elf'?! what is this world coming to? at this rate, there won't be a place for people like me anymore…how sad!
Brittney—and yet another 'don't hurt legolas'?! my lord, what are you people on? no, just kidding. as to the coffee high thing, i'm that way all the time, so don't worry—it's a good enough excuse for me!
X Moonchik—waaaaait a minnit, didn't i just talk to you? yeah, i did, but o well. so be it. sorry—i'm trying to update quick, but i can only type so fast! the ideas just spill out of the hole in my head faster than i can use them, which causes a delay, cuz then i have to remember whatever it was that got spilt…
Witchmaster—and you too, come to think of it. just talked to you as well. sorry about the cliffies, but you gotta admit, they keep you reading! *coughcoughlisseyelencough*
Z—*thanks again liss* i know, my chapters are too short, but i can't seem to get them longer without making them boring. Besides, i have so much fun with cliffhangers (as Witchmaster ought to know) that when i find one i just have to stop there, you know?
Kaimelieamin—waiter: uh, chef, that'll be some more legolas angst at table one… chef (me): coming right up! any ideas? i'm always open to fresh blood in my game.
Ryoko—yep, my very first fanfic. my first fic was 'seven stars', which i posted, but i think its size intimidates everybody, so no one ever reads it. that was my brainchild. But then one night i got really bored and decided to concoct a random story…the result you see before you, and since ppl liked it i wrote some more…and some more…and some more…and i'm working on the next some more, but you know…
Karone—*thank you lady v* and is it just me, or are there two of you? no, it's probably just me. but as to 'not a lot of legolas torture' i dunno…this chapter may have disappointed you a bit in that respect, hm?
Vana Everyoung—eldacar (says to muse #3): she's not crazy, she's just like me. and if you think that means she's crazy, well, my friend jarlaxle would like to meet you and debate upon that point. jarlaxle: *grins and fiddles with dagger* eldacar: ooh, he's got that look again…if i were you, i'd ruuuuun!
Wilwarin—sorry, i do try to update as fast as i can, but this is hard! *whine* ok, whining is a sure way to get meself slapped, isn't it. as to elvish, i'm proud to say i did those myself—with the help of a few wordlists. try http://www.elendor.net/translator.php
damn, those reviews took forever! not that i'm complaining, mind. *thank you lady v*
