CHAPTER TEN
The Beast
The large purple bruise just over Lord Glorfindel's right eyebrow was exceptionally hilarious. And it was also rather satisfying how the eye beneath it was not fully open as the swelling spread down to the eye lid and created a rather lopsided glare, Erestor decided with am amused smirk adorning his lips in the form of a small smile. Nearly laughing at the other's well-deserved plight, the adviser, said in a suppressed voice, "that is an ugly bruise…looks good on you though. "
He wasn't going to snicker, he wasn't going to snicker, and he wasn't going to…
"Go ahead and laugh yourself half to death…everybody else did!" seethed Glorfindel as his eyes narrowed in glistening slits of blue flame that kindled brightly. His golden brows were knitted tightly together in notable aggravation. Obviously he was on the verge of perpetrate a murder or two without any immediate regrets. And knowing Glorfindel the way he did, Erestor imagined that he was at the top of the golden-haired Elf's 'maul slowly' list.
Erestor simply let his smile broaden as he thought of these things before suddenly sniggering loudly, which turned into an all out roar of laughter as he stepped backwards, rocking back on the heel of his farthest foot. Glorfindel, he told himself silently, was going to kill him.
Glorfindel looked at the mountains beyond the window, afraid that if he watched Erestor laugh at him much longer he would choke him within an inch of his life and if he went that far he might as well finish it off because afterwards Erestor's retaliation was not something he wished to endure. That stuck up, nosey, stiff, dull, boring, devious excuse for an Elf-lord was not as stupid as he would have liked and actually had quite a cruel mind when he chose to use it. Glorfindel was sure Elrond was fully aware of this and that was why Erestor was in the position he was in. Glorfindel, along with the rest of Rivendell knew that even though Elrond Peredhil was kind at heart, he also had a slightly devious and insane side that could come up with some very…interesting…forms of retribution. Of course, Elrond claimed he never sought revenge, but Glorfindel was convinced otherwise.
Growling under his breath he glared at Erestor, "you can stop now. It wasn't that funny!"
"Your right…it wasn't that funny, it was that funny that it happened to you!" chuckled the adviser as Elrond came in, carrying some sort of vile smelling herbal poultice. Glorfindel noticed with a disgruntled frown that the twins were hot on his friend's heals, keeping their distance and smirking all the while. At some point he was going to have to end that laughter dancing in their eyes. And wiping that smirk off would be a bonus too.
Elrond placed the small wooden bowl by Glorfindel and dipped a cloth into the ointment before preparing to set it against the relatively small but ugly welt accumulating on his golden-haired friend's forehead. Even the Lord of Rivendell could not hide a smile. But he was thinking of Glorfindel standing before the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn with the knot on his head.
Glorfindel jerked his head back abruptly and protested, "that stinks! What ever did you put in there?" he asked, aghast. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled some of the sickening fumes. Glaring at his dark-haired friend, the blonde Elf winced as his raised voice caused his head to throb sharply for a moment before the pain faded away temporarily. He could have sworn seconds ago that the world was spinning around him in odd merging images…
"I put things that are good for you in there. It will reduce the swelling, if you want to know and ease the pain…"
"I am fine. Never better," argued Glorfindel as he tried to stand up from his sitting position on the edge of a bed in the healing ward. Everything blurred, Glorfindel noticed irritably, and it took a few seconds to reasonably clear up.
"Would you rather I get an Elf-maiden healer in here to take care of you and make you take a nap in front of my sons?" he asked as he raised a brow and watched Glorfindel's appalled face with keen eyes. Holding the cloth near Glorfindel's face, the Lord of Imladris commanded sternly, "let it sooth you."
Erestor stood in the corner, looking smug as he thumbed through pages in his book. Dark pieces of hair hung in his face and he brushed them aside before looking up, grinning at Glorfindel and shaking his head before chuckling again. Glorfindel frowned even more darkly and hoped that if Erestor were going to laugh this much that he would laugh himself sick. Now that would be funny. Or what would be even more amusing, delightful even, would be if he choked to death on a laugh.
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged very amused and identical glances as they watched Glorfindel jerk slightly when the cloth touched the bruise. Having been through such antagonizing and humiliating treatments themselves, they were an expert when it came to knowing exactly what the golden-haired warrior was experiencing. But that only served to make it all the more catching to their interests.
When Elrond was finished he pressed Glorfindel back down and said, "you must rest until the world stops spinning." Glorfindel tried to look innocent and completely confused, but it was pointless. He managed to get the completely confused part minus the innocence. "When you thought you were looking at me, you were looking at the door post, or relatively close. Mellon nin, I think you are seeing double," Elrond accused, not being able to hold back a small snigger, even with all his years of experience.
"Me?" asked Glorfindel virtuously and curiously all at once.
"Do you see anyone else who nearly got his skull fractured by getting to know a tree a little better?" asked Elrond wryly as he cleaned up his supplies, watching Glorfindel with verbatim for escape attempts from the corner of his eye.
"None in particular," answered Glorfindel with a wince as his headache continued to throb and he felt hazy. Small frown returning to his face, the Gondolin Elf nodded and said, "I guess I do need a slight rest. But I want to be in my own room. Healers make me nervous." Realizing in whose presence he had just spoken, Glorfindel flushed slightly and finished lamely, "but you're an exception, my old friend.'
"I don't know whether to take that as a complement or…" from the glare Glorfindel was shooting at Elrond, the Lord of Imladris figured the rest apparently need not be said. Smiling he said like he was soothing a child who was having a temper tantrum, "now lay down and get some rest. You have to begin your travel to Lorien in a few days."
The reminder of that aggravating trip to come did Glorfindel's mood no favors and a small snicker escaping Elrohir's lips in the corner was not exactly accommodating to the situation either. Glorfindel all but whined, "I do not need rest, I simply need time alone…"
"Rest," Elrond said firmly as he pressed on Glorfindel's broad shoulders when the Balrog-Slayer had attempted to rise and walk out. Glancing over his shoulders he called to the chief adviser, "Erestor, please gather my sons out and yourself as well." He knew all too well that the twins were not helping and Erestor's smirking was only serving to make Glorfindel's temper flare.
"Lord Elrond, I can't believe you would do this to me…"
"What? Try to heal you?" asked Elrond in a voice that sounded suspiciously like laughter was building up in his voice. He smiled as Glorfindel rolled his bright blue eyes and sighed in exasperation.
"You know what I meant!" he seethed as Elrond continued to hold his shoulders and try to calm him down. Glorfindel's voice became a lethal hiss. "Especially in front of them." He gave a gesture with his eyes towards the healers standing by watching with helpless laughter as one of their lords was being forced to more or less take a nap like a little Elfling. Most of the healers being maidens, of course.
Elrond gave a small frown as he realized that humiliating Glorfindel before these maiden healers whom he was sure that one or two attracted his friend's attention, was not a good idea, at least if he wanted to live. He gestured to them with his hand to leave and then he looked back at Glorfindel. Gesturing his head towards the door he asked, "better?"
Glorfindel smiled and then tried to rise again, taking advantage of Elrond's minute distraction. It was a wasted attempt and Elrond smiled, "nice try. My sons are better than that."
Glorfindel sat back against the pillows, finally giving up as his headache pulsed violently and the room seemed to swirl. He groaned and then growled, "I might lay here, but I refuse to sleep."
"Don't make me drug you. I really don't want to do that…again."
"You have never drugged me!" protested Glorfindel, sitting up with alarm.
"Then please do not make me start now," plead Elrond as he began to walk out, not caring to argue. His look was one of weariness and amusement. However, Glorfindel could tell that Elrond was tiring of this arguing.
Glorfindel looked at Elrond with an expression consisting of nothing but seriousness when he spoke in a quiet tone; "you miss Estel." It had been two years after all and anyone in Rivendell could say that on one occasion or another that had heard his or her lord up late at night, pacing and muttering to himself. As Glorfindel looked closer he could tell that Elrond's eyes were tired and slightly red-rimmed.
"Glorfindel, lets not talk about it," Elrond suggested somewhat maliciously as he turned to leave. He drew a heavy breath and then stopped as he thought about where his foster son was right then. Two years was a long time, even if you were an Elf, two years was a long time to never see someone you cared for and not hear a single thing from them as to their whereabouts. He had never thought time could truly move so slowly or make him feel so tired.
"No, we are going to talk about it, mellon nin," Glorfindel promised as he stared at his old friend's back with sharp eyes. Elrond thought he could feel himself getting run though by their intensity.
Elrond turned around and said calmly, "I am going to leave you to get your rest." He turned to leave and as he did Glorfindel called out after him in a promising tone.
"Very well, but we will talk about it!"
OIO
Elrohir was bored.
He had been sitting in the same place for more than two hours and could find simply nothing else to count, study, glare at or ogle at that he hadn't already done something to ten times over or more. He had honestly lost track. His dark hair hung over his shoulders and he flipped it back with annoyance. The small frown on his face spelled trouble with capital letters, but no one was paying enough attention to read it.
Elladan was perched on a windowsill that made a very interesting and oddly comfortable roost. His had an arm draped across a single knee and one leg dangling down to the floor as he gazed out with bored grey eyes to the gardens, watching the maidens sniff, pick, plant and trim the flowers and other various sorts of plants. It had been amusing at first, but to him maidens and flowers were only so exciting. Every now and then an occasional bee would buzz around the Elven women's sweet smelling hair and they would get annoyed or alarmed and cause him to smile, but other than that it was about as dull as watching paint dry. Actually, as far as his living memory went there had been a time when watching paint dry was far more intriguing. It wasn't that these maidens were ugly, not at all! It was the exact opposite, they were like slightly less fair versions of his sister but with height, build, hair and eye color differences.
He smiled at the memory of Glorfindel walking right into a tree only a few hours ago. He honestly wished he had gone in the room and tormented the golden-haired Elf just a little. But he had learned at a young age that you didn't tease Glorfindel and live to feel wicked satisfaction about it afterwards, much less gloat. And if you couldn't do that there really was no point. Unless there was some fun in standing before Mandos and while rattling off a list of things you had done, irritating Glorfindel, whom Mandos had sent back mind you, was a good thing.
But then again, Erestor often drove Glorfindel to beyond the insane point he had already reached some yén ago. And somehow the raven-haired counselor lived to tell the tale before he found himself to be the center of a carefully planned prank of Glorfindel's. It had to be because deep down inside they enjoyed torturing each other, Elladan decided with a laugh that he honestly hadn't known had been out loud.
"Care to enlighten me as to what is so funny?" asked Elrohir dryly as he cocked his head minutely and looked at Elladan with a curious expression. "Brother, it is impolite to chuckle to yourself before others' presence, you know."
Elladan smiled broadly and said, "I just was recalling Glorfindel's little…"
"…Misadventure," finished Elrohir for his identical brother with a light laugh of his own. "Yes, indeed, that was a rare occurrence, refreshing if it was nothing else." A small burst of laughter erupted again and Elrohir didn't try to stifle it.
"I couldn't agree more," said Elladan wistfully as he looked out the window and sighed. He was really becoming bored now, even though his little laugh had been invigorating, it had been temporary at best. The day was slightly hotter than others were and the air was thick, making it easy for one to fall asleep. It was easy to do that in Rivendell anyway, if you weren't an Elf, and sometimes even if you were. It had to draw from a heavy feeling of safety and sereneness that was inescapable.
Elrohir stretched out sideways in the chair, dangling his long legs over one of the arm rests casually. He clicked his boot heels against the side of the piece of beautiful furniture absentmindedly. Elladan turned around and glared a moment before saying, "Ada would kill you if he saw you sitting in one of our oldest piece's of furniture thus." He narrowed his eyes and then turned them back out the window, watching the wind ruffling the delicate leaves.
Elrohir merely raised a brow and looked at the chair beneath him incredulously. "The oldest?"
"Well if you disregard the one you broke last yén…" Elladan chided impassively as he watched Wilwarin intently. She was so swift and delicate on her feet and her eyes… But he knew he couldn't rebuild their broken relationship. They were friends only, though they were close in that regard.
Elrohir saw the sloppy and absorbed look slipping into his brother's eyes and a smile crept across his face. Still sitting like a homeless and sloppy vagrant, the younger twin said smoothly as he watched Elladan's narrowed eyes, "Ada says I get your room too and you have to sleep out on the balcony."
After waiting moments all was still silent.
But Elrohir was persistent and to say he was very amused wouldn't be a lie either.
"Word reached Ada that Estel has met his doom and that you are needed in the Lonely Mountain to delegate a meeting between the people of Dale and Dain's trusty people…"
Elladan nodded dryly and said in an absorbed voice, "that's good," before stammering, "-what!" Glancing back over his shoulder at his younger brother who was grinning like a daft lemur he started, "Elrohir! …You…I…that was mean…"
"And funny too…"
"I protest: it was not."
"Oh, but it was!" Elrohir laughed.
Elladan just shot his brother, who was laughing with a renowned hysteria, a scathing glare and his eyes turned to slits of annoyance. "Looks like you aren't so bored anymore," he commented tightly as he watched Elrohir lean back and stare at him from an upside down position, all his blood rushing to his face. "You look like an idiot."
Elrohir obviously didn't hear him, or at least gave no sign of such comprehension and continued with his frenzied laughter.
His reddening face and chuckles were amusing Elladan and he leaned back to laugh heartily.
But there was a slight problem…
There was nothing to lean back against.
Brief confusion, surprise, fright and humiliation crossed over Elladan's face in less than the three seconds he was up on the windowsill and felt himself plummeting downwards the entire seven feet that separated the window from the ground. Nothing was beneath him.
Things might have been terrible but the thorn bush below covered with large bright yellow roses broke the fall. No problem really, except that there were dozens of the barbs and stickers pricking his skin just in places where he was unable to reach. They were in his hair, scratching his face, pricking his fingers and ripping his clothing as he struggled before realizing that it was pointless and he might as well just relax.
But that was impossible and he felt his face turning white and then scarlet, as he became the center of the Elf-maidens' hysterical laughter. It wasn't that funny, he thought as he watched Wilwarin leaning on Ivrin and giggling helplessly. Her musical voice would have been welcome any other time, however it was at his loss this particular moment and he felt his face burning.
Elrohir leaned over the edge of the window and smiled down at his twin once he realized with all certainty that nothing of Elladan's was hurt other than his dignity. Grinning like a fool again, the younger twin called down, "got a thing for yellow roses have you? I like the red ones myself…"
Glancing up at his younger brother, who had made a grave mistake, the eldest son of Elrond smiled twistedly and snarled back up in a thick voice, "I've heard the thorns on yellow roses were less painful to the touch."
"Really?" taunted Elrohir as he leaned over the edge of the windowsill and placed one booted foot upon its edge as he looked down on the dark-haired and livid Noldo below.
The maidens smiled. This was interesting not to mention rare and more than laughable.
"Come down here and I will prove to you they are not," Elladan seethed as he struggled to untangle himself once more, only becoming more caught up in the painful vegetation that he was lying helpless in.
"I will take your word for it," Elrohir chuckled as he stepped back into the room and began to jog out of the chamber and into the decorated corridors.
Their father was going to be more than angry and it was for more than one reason, perhaps more than two. Yes, it would be about three reasons, Elrohir concluded. "First of all," he told himself openly. "Elladan shouldn't have been sitting on the windowsill; secondly, Ada loved that bush; thirdly, those thorns have some kind of slight venom in their barbs. Elladan's face will be swelled up to at least twice its size for at least this evening and maybe the majority of tomorrow morning."
"Have you taken to talking to yourself, then?" asked a soft voice that Elrohir recognized almost immediately. It still sounded smug and strangely like the mind behind it was scheming deviously.
"Erestor, I may be insane at times…but not that insane," Elrohir stopped walking and stared with a smile lurking on his mouth. Erestor gave him a questioning look and that was all it took for Elrohir to nearly lean on him and gasp between laughs, "Elladan fell out the window and landed on Ada's rose bush!"
Erestor smiled, knowing the named bush. Giving a whimsical laugh of his own, the raven-haired counselor nodded, "does your father have any idea?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as the question had left his lips.
"The house is still standing and Elladan is still alive," Elrohir advised as to the mood Elrond would be in once he discovered that not only had Glorfindel managed to get himself into some sort of mischief and get hurt in the process, but now Elladan had killed the pride and joy of the gardens. And too top that off, he had a short lasting venom in his veins. Not a one could say that this day had been uneventful.
"Today has been rather…amusing," Erestor said as he grinned broadly and tucked a blue book under his arm as he pulled a wrinkled and dog-eared piece of paper out of it. Ah, here was that threat Glorfindel had written so long ago. It was one of those things treasured so you could flaunt it in the other's face and say, "you still have yet to do this'!
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Elrohir said as he began to walk (nearly joyously) towards his father's study. A rather stupid thing to do, but he could not help but feeling slight playful after Elladan's little spill.
O0O0O0O0O0O
Legolas wriggled further against the farthest corner of this dreary new cell. It was dry, at least that was a bonus, but he felt strangely homesick and it wasn't for his home where his father was. It had to be the blood of his that still lingered in the water and floor stones of the former prison that made him want to go back. Which was ironic and rather disturbing, the Elf realized dryly.
But that was not his real problem, he told himself in the dark as he placed his chin on his knees and resisted the want to rock back and forth like a frightened Elfling.
No, you fool, just don't think about it.
As if on cue a broken cry rose up and hung a moment in the damp air of the darkness and Legolas cringed and banged against the stone walls despairingly with his fist. It should be himself in there, bleeding and screaming but it was his friend, his friend who had nothing against him other than the fact that he knew his name. It made Legolas more than angry…it made him livid.
Darcíl had to miss his appointment with them today for reasons unbeknownst to Legolas and so it was Sarchel doing the interrogations. Sarchel the cruel, Sarchel the possessed, Sarchel the cold-hearted monster. Legolas would give up his immortality for chance to wring that sick coward's scrawny neck with his bare hands.
One of the guards outside looked in and smiled coldly at the chained Elf who was trying to shrink into the walls. "I am sure if you go ahead and speak your name then Sarchel will go a bit easier on your friend in there…he might even stop."
"Leave me alone," Legolas commanded impassively as he rubbed his head with his trembling and aching hands. Not that he expected the men to actually give him some space and down time, but it was worth a try. Wincing at the pain in his hands, he shook his head inwardly. Sarchel had scene it fit to put him through the paces once more before moving on to the ranger.
He had dislocated two of Legolas' fingers again and it was shockingly worse the second time he had done than it had been the first. Legolas had bit his lip to keep from letting a shivering scream he felt bubbling up tear out of his throat. But that had taken a lot more effort than he had thought and now he felt so drained it was unbelievable.
The darkness had taken a strong toll on the Elf and his face was sallow and waxen. Dark rings wrapped themselves about his eyes in broadening patches and if it were not for the glitter in them one would have thought that they were non-existent. His features were drawn in constant pain, passionate and tangible. In all fairness he looked a lot like a sick raccoon, or at least that had been the comparison Aragorn had made. Not that that particular analogy and equivalence made him feel any better, but it was something to think about.
The chains on his wrists and ankles that had to be used to help with the oliphaunts were far lighter than the chains he felt binding his broken heart. He placed his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes as his sharp hearing picked up the minute cry of pain from Aragorn that was quickly stifled. He wished his hearing was dulled once more but it had finally been fully restored on this day. Why? Why did it have to be this day? He didn't know but he wished he did. But for now, he would have to accept it as one of life's crueler and more painful mysteries. Any other given day he would have been extremely and unconditionally grateful to receive it back, but now he wished he were completely deaf. And being an Elf that was one of the more bizarre things he could pray for.
The guard continued to smile and Legolas felt it throughout he darkness, like a cold spike piercing his awareness. It added to his list of reasons to slay every person living here. Flexing his fingers, he imagined himself strangling them slowly and watching their eyes as he told them his name and made sure they stopped breathing before he let them go. An unnatural bloodthirsty feeling began to bubble up inside of him for a moment -but only a moment -then common sense brought him back.
Suddenly a cry fractured the air and Legolas felt tears in his eyes and a sob came quietly up from his throat that he did his best to hide from the guards not wanting his pride to suffer more than it absolutely had to. He could not describe himself with any other word other than 'lamentable' with the possible exception of 'wretched'. His life seemed to have reached its lowest ebb. He knew it was hard to believe but he would much rather be in there, taking the pain and the taunting than listen to this; his friend's anguished cries. He was helpless, both of them were and it made Legolas furious at himself, this place, these people and at everything, even the ell they were being held in. Especially the cell -it kept him from his friend's side when Aragorn's situation was most dire.
With bitter suffering the Elf remembered the time when he had been trapped and the men of Aragorn's platoon had cared less, hoping he would die. Legolas' weapon had some how been knocked from his grasp and he was being pulled down by enemies encircling him, planning to slay him cruelly with maces.
Legolas' tears splattered on the stones that covered the floor.
He had been out there alone and the arrows were flying and he was about to die. But Aragorn had come back for him, to save him. Risking being pounded into he dust by the truncheons the ranger had come by his side and watched his back until he managed to find a weapon and back to back they had fought their way out.
Now when he needed Legolas, Legolas could not be with him. Chains and pain held him back and the cell bars did a good job of that in and of themselves.
It was almost more than the Elven prince could bear.
Legolas suddenly felt with detached awareness an acute stab of guilt that was rising in his heart. He had just left this father without an explanation or even so much as a farewell. Now he might never have the chance to say, "Father you are my hero. Don't you know you are the wind beneath my wings?" This was an unnecessary memory and it only served to add to injury but he couldn't suppress it. It was all he had left of home and his heart craved it, like a flower craving water in a desert or wasteland.
"Legolas, you have to begin to recognize, your people need you too," Thranduil chided his son none-too-gently as he placed his hands on Legolas' shoulders. His eyes were narrowed in a rising amount of anger.
"Father, Estel is going out there, to Harad and Gondor's Deep South by himself, he needs help. Elladan and Elrohir cannot go with him," protested Legolas adamantly. The angry glint in his eyes could not be mistaken for anything else other than an agitated fire.
"Legolas, your loyalty is here first."
"Father, perhaps if I went with him, I could find a way to aid the war you and I both know we are losing. The borders along Dol Guldur are too dangerous for our folk to be traversing," Legolas argued rationally. "I will come back. I promise you."
"Living without you forever is an awful long time, my little Greenleaf," Thranduil said with a weary sigh and said in a shaking voice as his emotions struggled to take control, "I expressly forbid you to leave."
"Father!" Legolas seethed in as respectful a voice as he could bring himself to use. "I am an adult-"
"You are less than a full age old!" Thranduil growled back over his shoulder as he turned his back on his son, who took a step after him.
"Elladan and Elrohir are allowed to-"
"Well they are not my pride and joy, are they?" asked the Elvenking as he turned around and glared at his child who was giving him a scowl as dark as any storm from Mordor might have been. "It is not my business what Elrond allows his children to do! My responsibilities are to keep you safe first."
"By keeping me in a cage?" Legolas asked bitterly as he clenched his hands at his sides. He felt his anger rising even though he knew it was horribly disrespectful and wrong. He just could not help it. "My world is bigger than that!"
"Now you go too far!" The elder blonde Elf all but yelled as Legolas' face hardened in anger fueled tenacity.
"No, no, I am old enough to make some decisions on my own!"
"Legolas, I am not beyond locking you up until you recover your senses!"
Legolas didn't remember anymore. He didn't remember the ending and he certainly didn't have the slightest recollection of how the entire tirade had started. How he regretted it. Not that he had left but that he had treated his father thus. It had been so horribly wrong. He was so desperate to fix things that if there had been a way to go back in time he would have been the one to find it then.
But now it was too late, two years too late. He now knew what kind of pain his family must be in. They had no idea what had befallen him and if Legolas had to take his own life he would keep it that way. It would pain his father to know his fate now and he would rather die than know that his father had too see him die or know that he had to be broken before the Haradrim could deliver the message to the Great Halls.
Then he remembered faithful and sweet Rothinzil. His dark-haired friend would be crushed. And Rothinzil was mortal now, if he stayed here forever, Rothinzil would die alone, foresight told Legolas Helluin would die first and Roth would follow of a broken heart. There would be no comfort for the mortal Elf and that troubled Legolas greatly to say the least.
'Sorry' didn't begin to describe Legolas' thoughts at this moment. He couldn't think of a word equal to his unquenchable misery. If there was one, it had to be painful to breathe it in a minute whisper of despair and he couldn't think of any that were like that in Quenya, Sindar, Common Tongue, Black Speech, Rohirram or the language of the Dwarves.
He heard Aragorn's broken breathing in the silence of the prison fading out into nothing.
As the prince buried his face in his arms one of the guards pressed his face up against the bars and asked in a sneer, "are you frightened Elf? Tell me, how do you enjoy listening to your friend?"
Legolas lifted his weary head that felt so heavy he didn't know how it was relatively possible that he was in fact lifting it. It should be lying on the floor, weighing him down with is guilt and pain. His eyes turned cold and he gave the guard such an icy look of pure and unaltered hatred and pity mingled with pain and anger that the man's grip tightened on his spear unconsciously. Who ever thought eyes could get that cold?
"I will make you eat those words later, Edan," Legolas growled levelly. "Someday I will come for you and make you wish you had not said such things. I might be frightened, but it isn't of you or even for myself."
The guard looked at the chains that held the prince to the wall, heavy and considerably massive for anybody to wear. He suspected that they were sufficient for their appointed task but if they weren't then he hoped the cell bars were…Throwing back his head he laughed heartily, "perhaps your ghost will after you are dead," he teased evilly and continued with his uproarious laughter. That was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, because Legolas was going to make a point to tear his throat out at some point.
A smooth and yet viperous voice drifted to Legolas' ears, turning his attention from the guard before his cell. "Are your new accommodations to your liking?" asked Prince Dorrag as he smiled in on Legolas, who looked away angrily. He feared that if he saw that man's ugly, smirking face he would not be able to control himself and might say something that would place he or Aragorn in more danger. If he had one of his twin knives and was free to move about with ready access to that's man's throat he would wipe that smirk off that bovine of a prince's face without a second thought. Actually, if he were free and only had his bear hands, they would be sufficient in and of themselves.
"And we love them so much," Legolas muttered in bitter sarcasm. Rolling his eyes he set his chin on his knees and concentrated his eyes on a stone that was about to pop out of the wall.
Dorrag gave a small frown and then waved the guard away with one small gesticulation. "You look terrible…having a hard time?" he inquired as he leaned against the prison bars leisurely.
"Why don't you ask my friend that?" Legolas asked coldly, still keeping his eyes off of the man that was somehow called a 'prince'. Legolas actually considered that to be an insult. If Dorrag was a prince, then what did that make him?
Legolas refused to look at him, not noticing when Dorrag drew a knife out from beneath the sleeves of his robes. "This is for you," he said as he flipped it through the bars and it landed at Legolas' feet causing the air to resound in a gentle ring of metal on stone. The Elf looked at it with a dark scowl and gave a cold and lifeless chuckle.
"You think I am stupid." This was a statement, not a question. "I may want to escape but I know better than to try and attack you and give your guards reason to spear me." The concept that Dorrag had thought he was that stupid made him feel annoyed. How dumb had he been acting to cause the man to come to such a conclusion? This gave him the impression that this entire place was completely insulting to him.
"On the contrary," Dorrag said as he watched the Elf nudge the knife further away in disgust with the toe of his boot. "I think you are very resourceful and intelligent…'sly' would be a good word to describe you."
"Then it must be you who is insane," Legolas said as he resisted the urge to laugh a heartless laugh. At least Dorrag had given him credit for being intelligent so he had gained that much respect. But Dorrag would learn to respect him for more than that. Legolas would make sure of it.
Dorrag smiled coolly as he watched Legolas raise his head and stare incredulously at him with narrowed eyes. "I am giving you a way out of here…but if you give up your own life you forfeit your friend's as well and I promise you he shall not go as easily as yourself."
"I may be looking for a way out, but I am not suicidal!" Legolas squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly, "I will see this knife plunged into your heart ere I return home and then I will be free." Legolas was not that desperate and broken. Maybe he had been before…but no longer, simply for the reason it was expected of him. He would give these people nothing that they wanted.
A shattering cry rent the air and Legolas shivered as he wondered what his friend was going through now having some personal experience in that business. He felt hot tears sting his eyes and he resisted the urge to let them burn his cheeks and run in little rivers down his face. Now, more than ever, he missed his father. Two years was a long time when you were miserable.
"Only in your dreams Elf, only in your dreams."
O0O
Just breathe, Aragorn told himself as he leaned back against the wall he was chained to. Just concentrate on breathing. But that was easier said than done, the man concluded darkly as he felt blood run down his face, hot and sticky. Or was it sweat? He couldn't tell the difference any more. He was dehydrated beyond caring, all he knew was that it was more liquid being seeped from his body and draining him of his meager strength. He was surprise he still had a grip on what he did.
Sarchel gripped the human's hand and squeezed it cruelly, causing Aragorn to arch his back in pain as his fingers, dislocated and mutilated as Legolas' had been, were pressed and ground together. He bit back a scream but could not help but close his eyes as he felt the pain swallow up all his mind and nearly his will.
Sarchel watched with twisted pleasure as the man's face went white with the agony of his torture. It was amusing to watch and even more so to deliver. Smiling sickly with a wicked light in his droopy eyes, he watched as Aragorn slowly opened his pain glazed orbs and stared through the mist curtain into his own.
"What has that little Elf done to deserve your unbroken loyalty? You are being tortured and all to protect his name? Who is he that you should hide it so?" Sarchel questioned as he felt Aragorn's sweat amount increase on his palms and he saw the shaking face hat looked translucent. "Go ahead and scream…the Elf did."
He smiled ad knowing smile as he saw Aragorn bite his lip in agony to keep from doing exactly what his captor and tormentor wanted him do to. He knew Legolas could hear him and he knew what the Elf was thinking and what he had already gone through. Legolas shouldn't have to go through anymore.
But that was out of his hands, the ranger reminded himself as he drew in a sharp intake of breath when he came to the realization that he hadn't breathed in some time. It was a miracle he was still conscious. But it was a mixed blessing because right now he wished that he was into black nothingness and could feel nothing.
Sarchel asked again, "what did he ever do to have earned this loyalty? After all, he is only an Elf..."
Aragorn's eyes caught fire and if Sarchel knew what the flames in them meant he would most likely have backed off a few steps. But he was naive and completely clueless as to his captive's deep running wrath so he just laughed.
Aragorn's voce was thick and he spoke slowly as though Sarchel were wholly stupid and hardly knew a word of the Common Tongue. "Only an Elf?" Shaking his head slower than he was speaking the ranger said, "no." His face took on a green tint as he felt like he was going to throw up and pain scored his abdomen.
"No, he is my friend and he wouldn't be here if it weren't for me and my weakness," Aragorn choked out as he felt Sarchel release his fingers and stare at him with a smirk on his face.
"And now he is being tortured, beaten, and mangled, because of you?" asked the crazed Lieutenant as he looked at the blood on his hands, Aragorn's blood. His clothes too were ensanguined from the spurts of blood that had come from the man's torso when the old wounds had reopened. But no, he was wrong, it had come from that wounded shoulder when he had re-probed it.
"Why is that I wonder?" Sarchel asked as he stood back on his heels and watched all the anguished emotion register in Aragorn's tumultuous grey orbs. One was half closed due to some swelling around the lid where a fist had connected with his eye. "Perhaps he is too stupid to know when it is better to give up for his own good…"
"Or perhaps," Aragorn seethed around a set of clenched teeth. "It is that he doesn't take orders from cowardly dogs and insane beasts such as yourself." Realizing that his clenched teeth would only add to injury Aragorn reluctantly loosened their grinding grip and tried to will himself to remain calm. A shiver that he could not suppress started at the end of his spine and ran up all the way to the top of the back of his neck.
Sarchel's eyes glazed over with anger and perverted pleasure all at once. Aragorn could tell he was restraining himself from killing him. The soldier smiled tensely and ice filled his gaze. "Why don't you save your friend and tell us his name. His death is far better than his lingering here, tortured, bleeding and screaming. Or do you enjoy hearing his pain filled cries?"
Aragorn managed to retain the self-control to remain calm and not jerk against his bonds. Being serene when your captor wanted you to go crazy was one of the best defenses and forms of defiance. He just gazed into his tormentor's eyes and asked hoarsely but with a calmness that was eerie and surprised himself, "and dishonor us both? I am no craven and if my friend wants you to know his name, he apparently has a voice, he will tell you."
"Then perhaps he enjoys listening to your cries of pain?" Sarchel asked as he watched Aragorn's face intensively. "Or else why does he remain silent when he could end your pain so fast?"
"Because he is strong," Aragorn said decisively. "And he trusts me not to betray him." But for a moment Aragorn felt a stab of guilt rush through him like a poison as he realized that he might not be strong enough. He was already in horrible pain.
"Does he now? He is strong you say?" Sarchel asked as he fingered a knife he had picked up from a table of other strange instruments and devices in the darker corner of the room. He stared at Aragorn's bloodied torso in disappointment. There wasn't an unmarred patch of skin anywhere that he could see so he could create a new wound. It was a rather unsatisfying feeling. Twirling the knife for a moment, he said, "well I may just have to upgrade the pain a little. Darcíl was a fool. You can endure far more than what he expected and you might fool him, a weak idiot, but you will never fool me."
Stopping the calculated twirling of his blade, the tormentor stabbed swiftly and before Aragorn could blink the knife was buried halfway up to the hilt in his left forearm. Blood spurted from around it and before it was withdrawn the weapon was given a vicious twist.
It was all Aragorn could do to exhale and breathe again. It felt as though his lungs were blocked and being squeezed shut, suffocating him. Closing his eyes as his face obtained an even chalkier color than the last, the man bit back the pain and forced his grey orbs to open slowly and dramatically. They had a retreating film of white pain as he met Sarchel's cruel gaze.
Sarchel smiled and said, "Well that may be, but are you strong enough?" He shook his head wistfully as he imagined seeing the Elf and ranger bowed to his mercy and level of conduct. But then he taunted, "are you strong enough to save both his honor and his life? You know what will happen once his name is known and where he is from is extracted from one of you…"
He watched anger and horror reflect in Aragorn's eyes as began to doubt himself…just a little…He already had been and he felt more than a little frightened that Sarchel of all people had been able to second guess him.
"He will be executed…he and any emissary sent to plead his freedom. And you, ranger, will watch his scrawny little neck break as he falls with a rope around his throat before you yourself are sacrificed just to prove the point…"
Aragorn felt his strength wearing thin as he imagined Legolas dying…and saw his own guilty face after he revealed who his friend was. With every heartbeat his wound pulsed pain mingled with the hot blood that gave the air a coppery tang. His very life force was torturing him.
"But know this," Sarchel said and all cruel playfulness came out of his eyes and was replaced with a deadly fire. "If he weakens to the point of breaking and you are becoming tiresome, you aren't necessary for Dorrag's plans."
Finally, after what appeared to be decades, Aragorn found his voice and said, "you are a sick cur."
"And you haven't seen the half of it, ranger, not even the half of it," Sarchel said as he let the knife fall from his hand carelessly allowing the blade to bang on the floor with a ring that was surprisingly sharp.
Sighing, the dark-haired tormentor said, "this is so boring. All we do is have the same little conversations…but ah; maybe I should get the Elf. Yes, then we can have twice as much fun and games." Sarchel turned to a guard posted by the door of the torture chamber and handed him a set of manacles set with sharp teeth along the inside of the locking rings.
"Bring the Elf," he commanded in a low voice as his eyes watched Aragorn's face for his emotion.
"No!" Aragorn finally burst out and dared to jerk against this bonds as all his own signals of pain fled from his thought. His chains that held him to the wall clinked loudly as he all but begged on his knees, "you can't! You will kill him before you get an answer!"
Panic rose in his heart as he remembered all that Legolas had already been through. He was seriously concerned that his friend might simply surrender his soul to Mandos and leave this world behind. But then again he was worried Legolas would be to stubborn to save himself because he was too loyal for his own good at times and would go the most excruciating distance if it meant being with his friend through the good times and the bad.
"Oh he may wish he would die before he could answer, but trust me, he won't." With a wicked smile Sarchel inquired with laughter in his eyes, "but how do you know that I plan to hurt him? What if it is reversed and he has just to watch you?"
TBC…OH-HO! Evil cliffie! Please review! Thank you!