CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
What Was Remembered
Pain…. Dizziness…. Bewilderment…. Legolas opened his eyes slowly, one at a time and realized that it was still night and that he was hanging from something. Or at least, the upper half of him was dangling; his arms were above his head. And, he realized angrily, that his fingers were cold tipped and numb, he couldn't feel them. It wasn't that he was unused to having unreasonably tight bonds placed on his hands; on the contrary, he knew the feeling all-too well. Sighing openly, because he really didn't see anyone in the room, not that his vision was entirely clear, but he doubted from the dead silence that anyone was around, the Elf struggled meagerly with the ropes and discovered that as usual, that it was hopeless.
And no matter how many times he had discovered a situation to be completely hopeless, he could feel the icy feeling clenching his stomach again and he resented the fact that he never could get used to these difficulties enough to not get an anxious feeling. That was just annoying, he decided without thinking about it twice. Twisting in his bonds he realized something else that he knew he should have expected all along.
It actually was very degrading that he had never thought of it.
His hands were burned, and burned to a near critical degree. They hadn't hurt too much when he had received the burns thankfully, because he knew the pain of it would probably have made him fall flat on his face into the mud in front of all the soldiers. But not that the nerves were not so shocked it he had been unconscious for the rest of the night until now, they were sending his body unambiguous distress signals that he simply could not push aside.
He winced as he felt the ropes create a horrible pressure on his burns and sent sharp and flaring pain through his hands and even pulsing through his head for some odd reason. Closing his eyes, Legolas concentrated on his breathing. In…out…in…out…in…out…
It was working a little, he told himself after what seemed an age but in fact had only lasted near two minutes.
Gritting his teeth, so as not to give a small cry, the blonde captive tried desperately to rise up a little from the floor and get feeling back into his legs. Figuring out very quickly that this was no possible if he wished to maintain consciousness, the prince relaxed and let his head sag back against the wall.
As if on cue and door slammed. Sending vibrations through the wall and creating a new pounding headache, it cause Legolas to grimace before he opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized to have been shut. Seeing the Haradrim captain standing before him with a smirking grin on his face, the Elf did his very best to squelch a tiny, and depressing voice that said, 'you are in big trouble…again.'
He was really beginning to loathe that little voice with a passion. He especially felt he 'again' part had not been necessary for the said voice to point out.
"Have a nice night Elf?" Cortanyar asked, as he squatted down to look Legolas in the eye in a way that made the warnings running through Legolas' mind trigger off another round of anxiety. When the prince didn't respond the Haradrim man only smiled and shook his head in amusement and perhaps slight frustration. "The silent treatment, eh, Elf? I though only children played that game with each other. Come, we are adults, we can talk."
"I have nothing to say other than this: you and your people are crazy. Your poor excuse for a prince is as mad as a hatter and that is putting it nicely." Legolas decided before he spoke that being blunt may not be the best choice but he really didn't have anything to lose. He knew he was going to face more torture and die, so he might as well tell them exactly what he thought of them. "And, and did I mention that you are all going to pay? Sooner or later, you will." Then he quickly added, "and hopefully sooner."
Cortanyar didn't lose his cool but rather seemed even more amused by his captive's tirade. "So you don't think your friend is coming for you then?"
"I think he will try, but I doubt he will succeed before it is too late," the Elf said emotionlessly, draining his eyes of all emotion so that his thoughts were more or less unreadable.
"Well, you are right, he would be too late, but it isn't like that matters…"
Legolas jerked visibly and tightened his hands into balls despite the pain it caused him. "Why! What are you going to do?"
"He will be dead before you step a single booted foot on the scaffolding, Elf. There will be no one to save you." He smiled coldly as he watched the prince's eyes fill with dread, not for himself, but for Aragorn. "Oh, and did I tell you of how you are going to be publicly put to death, hmmm?" He inquired, taking some of Legolas' blonde hair and fingering it thoughtfully as he spoke, "you are going to be be-headed. Have you ever seen someone lose their head, Elf?" His smile became malicious and Legolas remained quiet.
"Well, rumor has it that your head searches for its body. It only lasts a few seconds of course, but then you see your corpse and then, you die, taking that image with you," he sneered as he noticed that no matter how much the blonde being had tried to hide his fear, he was gradually becoming too afraid to keep it in the dark. "But I think that having you be-headed is far too nice, Elf. I think that some sort of punishment should be administered first and publicly before you are taken from the circles of the world."
"Do what you like," Legolas retorted calmly, feeling himself slowly going eerily calm and feeling nothing. He was going numb. It was like the calm before a battle, the calm that gave him a center of direction, the calm that made everything seem easier to bear.
"I would but I have authorities to answer to, my superiors, or so they are called," he finished bitterly and succinctly. Legolas more than picked up on the man's sense of hate and blatant disrespect for his lord, Prince Dorrag. He looked at the abundant purple bruises that covered the Elf's pale cheeks and abdomen, a result of the stubborn and resistant attitude the blonde being possessed. "I still think that having escaped and resisted recapture calls for some form of immediate punishment."
Legolas' impassive expression was expected and the man came over and Legolas didn't even realize what was going on. It all happened too fast, way too fast. He saw Cortanyar draw his hand back and he saw the angered and blackened look upon his face, but then he heard an audible and sharp crack, saw stars explode in the front of his eyes before he realized that his head had been snapped to the side. Blood ran from his bottom lip and down his chin. That was at least the fourth time his lip had been broken at the hands of these men. He heard someone gasp in shock and cursed inwardly when he came to the alarming conclusion that that someone had been him.
But the blows didn't cease there, as Legolas stared at Cortanyar in shock but with fierce eyes he was struck across the face with an open hand again. This time he managed to brace himself halfway and so he simply grimaced and hissed rather than cry out in quick and brief pain. But his face abrasions were not taking this well and the bruises hurt…a lot, a lot more than he was willing to admit.
The third blow was hard enough to make him give a soft and nearly imperceptible whimper that he couldn't help and he felt like he wasn't able to breathe. Drawing a guttural breath, similar to a sob, the captive growled thickly, "leave me alone." But his words did not have the ring of defiance or strength he wished they possessed. He was working not to pass out due to his injuries and the pain they brought about in relentless waves.
As Cortanyar watched the Elf gasp for breath, trying to regain his composure, the man thought with regret how he wished he had enough time to perform even minor experiments. But he did not. He knew that Dorrag wanted the Elf brought in alive tomorrow evening and brought out for execution the following dawn. Shaking his head he tried to tell himself it wouldn't do to experiment on the Elf now but his pride was simply not ready to admit that.
Not willing to allow his prisoner to see that he was grating on his nerves, the man shook his head and forced himself to turn away and walked over to the door in long strides. Legolas watched curiously and his Elven perception that helped him to read hearts at times helped him to see what should have been obvious. This man wanted to torment him and was not allowed. He was miserable and smirking at the human's back, Legolas narrowed his eyes, and muttered resistantly, "you will never break me, human."
As soon as Cortanyar was gone, doing Valar knew what and Legolas was certain he didn't want to know, the Elf began to tug at his bonds and winced as he remembered his burned hands, whose pain had been temporarily lost at the extent of his other wounds and troubles. 'Why did it have to be burns?' he asked himself inwardly and rather grouchily.
Not tat he regretted for a minute how he had managed to receive said wounds, but he did regret their existence. He regretted it greatly.
Realizing once again that these bonds were not going to break and that he was tied here expertly and without flaw, the prince sighed and settled down against the wall, biting his lower lip thoughtfully and wondering if he was going to get himself out of this nasty mess. He couldn't even remember how he had gotten into it to begin with.
Oh, yes. Now he remembered, he had followed Estel, the person who attracted the most trouble if you disregarded Glorfindel. Chuckling, Legolas reminded himself that he had chosen to come with Aragorn so therefore this was his entire fault, at least for the most part. And, he realized as he assessed the situation further, that he actually had caused Aragorn to be tortured because the men had wanted his name, had wanted to know where he came from. If he hadn't been captured then Aragorn wouldn't have been tortured.
'But,' his logical frame of mind attempted to reason with him. 'You did not torture him, those men did. You couldn't have stopped.'
Legolas felt the horrible and hurtful feeling of tears pricking just beneath his closed eyelids. Clenching his eyes shut as he tried to stop the tears he only succeeded in squeezing them out and causing them to run down his cheeks, leaving little dirty rivulets he could not wipe away and would be forced to display for everyone to see.
He missed his friend, he missed his family. And the worst thing was, he didn't know for certain if Aragorn was alive or dead. He wished to the Valar that the man would be safe for once in his life and do the wise thing and run. But no, Aragorn was far more stubborn than that and if the man came back for him and got killed the Elf swore he would never forgive himself. And if they made it out alive, he decided with a decided glare that no one saw he would kill the man himself. Yes, strangling him with his bare hands sounded like a good method.
Yawning, the Elf realized how truly weary he was. Leaning his head back against the wall gently, so another hammering headache would not start up anew, Legolas stared up at the ceiling. It was boring ceiling, he determined after about three minutes of just watching the wood and a tiny dust spider. He sighed as the dust spider scuttled into a corner and disappeared from view. Puffing his cheeks with boredom and exhaling the air slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine his home.
Though he hadn't been there in two years, everything was crystal clear in his mind. The memories of Elves were very long and Legolas' were uncorrupted and as fresh as though he had been there yesterday. He remembered his room, his bedroom, with its soft bed and the designs on the ceiling. He recalled how the songbirds had woken him in the morning and he recalled dawn's rays on the soft boughs of the trees in the early morning hours.
He remembered hunting with Rothinzil and he recalled the enchanted streams and how Roth had once tripped into one and not woken for weeks, much to Helluin's unceasing frustration.
But then he crinkled his forehead as his memories of his father came to the front of his mind. He felt guilt weighing on his heart once more and he realized that his father had probably given him up for dead. He hadn't meant to put his father through that sort of pain. Realizing that he probably would never have a chance to say he was sorry, Legolas felt his throat constrict, understanding he would never see his father again. And he didn't know how he could go to Mandos' Halls and look his mother in the eye after what he had done.
Shame flushed his cheeks and his eyebrows came together, creating a definite crease, a sure sign of his discomfort and sorrow.
He had abandoned his father, the person his mother had loved, the man who had raised him and taught him wrong from right. He had been like a child and stormed out instead of being reasonable. Shock took him and his breathing increased as his guilt came to a breaking point.
O0O
Fumbling in the desert, Aragorn wiped his brow as he cursed the stones that covered the sandy earth for what was near the tenth time since he had reached this cursed place. His face glistened with sweat and blood as the late morning's rays fell full upon it, nothing between them and his flushing skin. Sunburn was inevitable and he knew it. The small voice inside his head groaned in anticipation and he glared at the world about himself sullenly. It was just his sort of luck that the day he would be traveling in the desert would be the day the sunshine would come out.
Stumbling over another stone Aragorn was beginning to realize quickly how this was one of the worst mistakes he had ever made, well if you cast out the decision to come to Gondor at all and get caught up in the Haradrim conflicts. He would have been off much better, and so would Legolas, if he had never gone South and waited for his brothers. But no, he had go and prove what he was capable of. An insulting chorus of unmistakable laughter came from the sardonic portion of his thinking and he pushed it aside angrily as he forced himself to walk a little further.
Though he didn't know why he was bothering to walk any further, because he was most certainly lost beyond his knowledge to find where he was. When he didn't want a guide, they were here there and everywhere offering their services for far too high a price but when he desperately needed one there was not one to be found. It was frustrating, really.
Stopping, the ranger sighed and stared at the sand before him. He had not even bothered to find which way he had started from so for all he knew he could be heading totally the opposite way he needed to go. This idea did not appeal to him in any way, shape or form and before he went any farther he guessed he might want to collect his bearings and figure out exactly where he was.
There was just one real problem with that.
There was no way for him to gather a sense of direction even slightly resembling accuracy. There were plenty of stones, more than he had ever thought to see in a lifetime, but unfortunately the land was too dry for moss to grow and at this time of the year it was too wet so he couldn't tell which was North by the rocks. Not that it was always precise, but it was better than absolutely nothing.
Suddenly, he saw something large and dark in the distance slumped over in the sand and rock. Actually, the more he squinted his eyes against the sun and studied it; the more he realized it was in the likeness of a human. But who would be out in the desert like this he couldn't imagine. Maybe he had fled the destruction and total sack of Astroggen, Aragorn could not be sure.
But knowing this could very well be both he and Legolas' last chance the determined man was willing to risk seeing if the man was alive or as he feared, dead. Inclining his head to one side, Aragorn gave him a cautious and scrupulous look ver, making sure that the man was weaponless. He grimaced openly when he realized that the other was in possession of a sword, but it was halfway under him and most likely of no use.
Something about him looked familiar, though he wasn't sure what it was. Suddenly he knew, he remembered where he had seen this man before.
This was Darcíl, though what he was doing out here was anyone's guess and Aragorn wasn't even about to try.
Taking a few careful steps forward, the ranger strode beside the fallen Haradrim captain and stared down at his still form. Not knowing what else to do, he reached down and touched Darcíl's shoulder gently. But, Aragorn noted his fingers came off grey with ash and soot that had to come from a reasonably good-sized fire. Wrinkling his nose in curiosity and anxiety that he felt rising, Aragorn watched to see if Darcíl awoke.
There was a slight stirring as the Haradrim captain sensed a presence above him. His dark eyes fluttered open and he blinked up at Aragorn in disbelief. "Its you," was all he said and his tone was flat and emotionless as he didn't move from the way he lay sprawled on the ground.
"Expecting someone else?" the ranger, asked with due precautions, circling Darcíl where he lay on the ground quietly, just following Aragorn with his eyes. He had good reason not to trust this man and yet one single good reason to trust him.
"Some soldiers come to kill me, perhaps," he groaned as he tried to rise and felt how stiff his body was. Aragorn stopped circling him and realized how dehydrated Darcíl truly was and he took careful note of the emotional trauma the other man seemed to be experiencing. The ashes, the smoke smell that he strongly detected…it all made sense…his family was murdered.
"I need your help-"
"Where's the Elf?" the other asked, interrupting rudely and abruptly without too much thought since his head felt like it was detached from his body. The world spun for a moment and he paused, waiting for it to whirl back into focus and stop spinning in odd rotations about his head.
"He is recaptured. But that's just it, I have to get him back, you helped us once-"
"The circumstances were entirely different. You had a chance. And, apparently you can't even follow a set of explicit instructions!" he winced as he finally managed to find his feet but he wavered as things swerved in and out of his vision for a few seconds that seemed like life-ages.
Aragorn bit his lip thoughtfully and in mounting frustration. Here he had found someone who could help and he was being completely uncooperative! This was just the sort of luck he and Legolas would run into. "Please, you don't understand-"
"He is your friend? And he is dear to you?" scoffed Darcíl bitterly. "Well even those we love die at some point. Believe me, I know," he added in disdain, anguish evident on his pain twisted features.
"I can't understand the pain you know but you have chance for vengeance if nothing else-" Aragorn crossed his arms in aggravation as he was interrupted once more.
"What good is revenge, ranger? Where does it lead but to more misery and destruction for all concerned?" he inquired boldly and in hot anger.
"Then help for Harad's sake. Dorrag will have you groveling before Sauron. Do you not realize that Elves like…my friend, and the men of Gondor, are the ones keeping Sauron at bay! He would turn you all into slaves!" the ranger finally began to seethe angrily in his turn as he began to feel his hopelessness and helplessness dragging his heart towards the earth as though gravity was trying to tear it from his chest. It was like weight pulling him to the depths of an ocean where he would naturally drown.
"Do you think I don't realize that? What do you take me for? Stupid?" he asked sharply, glaring into Aragorn's eye which were in turn trying to bore into his. His lips pressed into a thin white line of exasperation as he realized this tenacious ranger wasn't about to stop his insisting.
"I know that you know," Aragorn responded evenly, trying hard not to punch Darcíl right in the nose. "That is why I am asking you for help." He watched with concern as Darcíl tried to walk and nearly fell flat onto his face. But few more steps and beyond looking fatigued he looked in a reasonably healthy state all things considered. Aragorn was pleasantly surprised. He really was.
But normally things such as being 'pleasantly surprised' didn't last very long. He knew that, unfortunately, from far too much personal experience.
"I am sorry but I cannot aid you. If Cortanyar has captured your friend, trust me when I say there is no getting him back. Anyway, he will be dead before we have a chance to get halfway up the scaffolding to save him," reasoned Darcíl logically and rather calmly. He shook his head to try without success to dispel a throbbing headache that was robbing him of his senses. This really was the last thing he needed besides a stubborn and mouthy ranger trailing him….
"You must! I will get my men free, they can create a diversion," Aragorn offered, hopefully.
"And why would I want to free people who have slaughtered my countrymen?" Darcíl asked as he began to walk away, going at a reasonably brisk pace plainly try to leave Aragorn behind.
Not be put off so easily, Aragorn gave the other man an agitated glare before stumbling after Darcíl and keeping up as best as he was able. The Haradrim captain was better fed and in entirely better shape than he was. After all, Darcíl hadn't been tortured for hours straight and starved.
"Alright, but all the same, you at least have to help me to get my friend back!" Aragorn plead, not caring how whiny, childish or weak he sounded. It didn't matter to him and he would crawl on his belly and grovel at Darcíl's feet if it meant that the man would help him save his friend.
The men, he decided, he would free himself.
At the moment, though, Darcíl shot the ranger and incredulous and nearly pitiful look. "Please, he has a family to return to!" Aragorn tried again, shouting in his anxiety and frustration. His voice echoed slightly off a few large rocks.
"So did I, and your point is?" Darcíl stopped and frowned, his dark eyes narrowed and Aragorn could have sworn he saw a small flame beneath them.
"Everybody, disregarding your prince and a few others around here, has a heart and can feel. Do want them go through the same kind of pain you are experiencing?"
"Ranger, let me make this abundantly clear," Darcíl growled bitterly and his tone was acidic enough to make Aragorn feel slightly ill. "I do not love your kind or the Elves and if he had been putting your friend to death simply to be putting him to death for being an Elf, I would kill you right now, without any hesitation. But as he wants you both dead to make us all bow to him and worship him in fear and wonder, I cannot kill you in anyway that would not be aiding to him."
He should have expected this speech, and in a way he had. Aragorn continued to keep his arms crossed before he tried once more to reason with the other human. "Then help your country and stop him from killing the Elf! This isn't revenge, it would be justice!" Although, Aragorn knew without much thought that it was treading a thin and easily crossed line between the two options. Just then, he began to feel dizzy his weariness and wounds were catching up with him.
Darcíl looked totally emotionless for a few seconds as he thought things over. But then his face darkened and he blinked back his growing anger towards Dorrag and all his wickedness. Not exactly feeling comfortable helping the ranger but knowing of nothing else that sounded like a better option, the Haradrim captain looked at him quizzically. "Do you even have a plan?" he asked concisely and rather dubiously.
Aragorn didn't appreciate the incredulous tone in the other man's inquiry but he answered civilly as possible. "I meant to intercept the convoy taking him to Sygul-"
Insulting laughter coming from Darcíl, who was now just chuckling wryly and rather rudely, interrupted him. "You wouldn't be able to do that. It will be armed to the teeth and you would fight very valiantly and die very swiftly as they laugh at your stupidity."
Aragorn bristled inwardly at the reproach and he felt hot color come to flush his cheeks with humiliation as he realized how stupid that plan had actually been. Elladan was right, he never did truly think things through at times. Smacking himself upside the head mentally and condemning his impulsiveness, the ranger gave Darcíl a level glare. "Well then what do you suggest?" he couldn't keep the suspicion out of his voice.
Darcíl returned the glare before he shrugged and then said slowly, as he began to think mindfully about what steps they could take and the risks they would run. "The scaffoldings are usually built just outside the city. Of course they would have guards, lots of them. But," he frowned and shook his head. "We couldn't get up to him without being shot."
"Well then what are we to do? I have already left my friend to torment, I will not leave him to death!" Aragorn promised angrily, his silver eyes catching flame and taking on a flinty look. He would go by himself it he had to, though help would be nice, if help it really was.
"If we killed the executioner and perhaps Cortanyar and Dorrag then we can maybe buy enough time to get the Elf off the podium and into the crowd where hopefully we can get lost."
Aragorn nodded as he thought through Darcíl's suggestion slowly and carefully. It may work, but there were so many complications that could go wrong and end up with everyone dead. "But will the scaffolding not be heavily guarded as well? If this is such an important occasion." A smile suddenly began to tenaciously pull at Aragorn's lips and at length he let it show in his face. "I think I may have a plan." The ranger nearly chuckled as he imagined Legolas saying, "you? A plan? Manwë help us, every one!"
"Well," Darcíl said walking forward a few small steps and then turning around in his left heel. "Let's hear it."
"Dorrag wants me dead, correct? I don't think he would pass up an opportunity to kill me on sight. What if I was to appear coming for my friend's rescue and was spotted? I led some guards on a chase, cutting my friend lose as soon as I can. Astorggen was just attacked. Surely there will be people that have escaped and who would love to ruin Dorrag's plans, maybe they will aid us."
Darcíl shook his head before he said, "maybe, but they have their own troubles now, manly keeping their families out of dodge. I know my brother has out sister and her son to think of." He looked at Aragorn's face and his eyes darkened with suspicion as he saw the mournful and pitying look on the ranger's features. He knew it could mean more than one thing but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach as dread gathered itself in a tight and unrelenting knot. "You know of my brother," he ground out between clenched teeth. His lips pressed into a tight, white line of foreboding and he watched as Aragorn nodded curtly, walking around him a few small steps.
"I knew your brother, Darcíl," answered the ranger quietly, hating to tell the man this and fearing that it would interfere with his decision to get Legolas back. Especially if he knew how his brother had died…. But Aragorn had to tell him, his conscience wouldn't allow him to do otherwise no matter how much he tried to squelch it through rationalizing everything. It would be at unrest until he told the entire truth.
He watched as the color visibly drained from the Haradrim captain's face, like color fading from a flower's pedal, leaving it white and translucent. Aragorn wondered if the other man was assuming more than he had said and so the dark-haired ranger quickly added in hushed tones, "but Mytra and her son are well as far as I know. They took a convoy to Mysol."
Darcíl said nothing but his eyes started to glisten and he shook his head numbly. He couldn't believe it. Damrod was so careful, so very careful. He wouldn't have been killed unless someone he had trusted had killed him or he was caught off guard because things took a very unexpected turn. Glaring at Aragorn incredulously, the Haradrim captain asked darkly and a bit threateningly with his menacing eyes boring into Aragorn's silver ones, "how was it he died, ranger?"
"He died because he made a stupid mistake and that's all I know," Aragorn uttered softly, watching Darcíl's gaze waver slightly in distress and disappointment. "Mourning isn't going to help anything. If you help me get my friend back I will not engage your troupes in their lands anymore. I will take my men and leave. However, if they come into Gondor or anywhere else, that's an entirely different story."
"I will help you, I just want this all to be over with. But if you go against your pact, I will kill you, understand? And I will turn that Elf into a slave and sell him where I want. I will break him. Am I clear or do I need to repeat myself?" he spat angrily. The more logical and stubborn part of his brain was telling him not to agree with any of this. But without those Gondorian troupes helping there was no way to save the Elf and thus save Harad form the clutches of Dorrag.
"Explicitly clear," Aragorn answered calmly, all things considered. But then his voice took on a serious and eerily flat tone. "Now uphold your end of the bargain and help me get my men free. If you don't eventually Gondor will seek retribution and it will be harsh. The Lord Echthelion is not one to let his soldiers get captured and tortured without seeking revenge."
"I have known that for some time. If it had been me in charge you, that Elf, and your entire battalion of men would have all been killed, quickly and cleanly." He drew a deep heavy sigh and rolled his shoulders slowly before he shrugged and muttered, "I am not one for diplomacy. I am a soldier and I do what I have to in order to win a war. My talent doesn't lie in manipulation." He frowned darkly and stared at Aragorn hard, as if trying to read his thoughts that were buried deep, deep in places that he hardly opened for himself to read.
"Manipulation isn't a talent," Aragorn said firmly with a callous face of apathy that could be described as cold, pushing all thoughts of Erestor's skills aside. "It is a curse." His eyes turned back behind him, to where he was almost one hundred percent certain that Legolas was and was being tortured. He knew Dorrag's men wouldn't be pleased about the chase Legolas had leaded them on and he knew that the Elf had made a horrible mistake allowing himself to be recaptured. Shaking his head ruefully inside as he mulled everything over, the man hoped to Manwë that his friend would not resist too much, he feared the punishment would be more than Legolas could undertake.
"It all depends on how you look at it," Darcíl mumbled, eyeing Aragorn as they started swiftly towards the outskirts of Sygul. His gaze was filled with more than mistrust and leeriness towards the ranger.
O0O
Legolas had managed to get his emotions under what he thought was complete control before Cortanyar came strutting haughtily back in with his cold eyes looking satisfyingly frustrated, Legolas noted as he leaned against the wall, quietly observing. Biting his lower lips he chewed on it as he heard Cortanyar muttered disdainfully, "why do we play these foolish games? Burning the village to the ground and killings its people would have served us far better." He fixed his menacing and malicious expression to Legolas as if to try and intimidate him with its fierce potency. "And I think it would have served us far better to turn you into a miserable and groveling slave and take your broken form back to your people rather than allow you to be a martyr!"
Legolas shifted his face away, choosing to openly ignore and defy the man since he now realized that talking caused entirely more pain than he need go through. Shamefully, that was a lesson he knew these men had wanted him to learn and a hot and bitter anger burned his heart as he thought about how he had submitted like whipped cur to a cruel master. Before the logical part of his thinking could convict the impulsive part of his thinking with reason it had already taken control. "Unfortunately for you, you are not in charge, Captain." His put a smirking emphases on the word and rank of 'captain', watching out of the corner of his eye for Cortanyar's expression, which he more than expected to be wrathful.
He was all too right in his assumption and he grimaced mentally as the man came over and glowered down at him, his face glowing with a dark spite, allowing Legolas to know that he was about to do something painful. Looking at Legolas' hands, chained above his head to the links, the Haradrim captain smiled icily and touched one of Legolas' inflamed fingers roughly, noting with pleasure how the prince jerked in sudden pain. "These were dislocated at one time," his insight startled the prince, who quickly diverted his eyes to the floor to hide his spiking fear that was wrapping itself around his heart to strangle it like binding cords.
"And they have been burned as well. You could lose control of your fingers, Elf." He gripped Legolas' right forefinger and began to bend it. Legolas jerked upward as though he had been stabbed in the back and he went completely rigid as the color drained from his face quickly. His breathing began to speed up as his body reacted to the excruciating pain he was experiencing. "Does it hurt, perhaps?" the man jeered down at the immortal, whose face was drawn, his nostrils flaring as he tried and tried without success to control his quick intake of breath.
"Stop," the Elf tried to command his captor, but it came out more like begging than a mandate, much to his disappointment and shame. He tried to pull his hand free but it only brought more and more pain with every single little struggle he dared to make. His cheeks flushed with shame while the rest of him paled in anguish. Cortanyar smiled as he watched the emotions that could clearly be read across every feature of the fair-being's face as though the prince was saying them. There was twisted pleasure that he absorbed as though he was a sponge when he twisted, bent, folded and squeezed the mangled fingers of the Elf-prince.
Finally he managed to drag the desired reaction from the weary and beaten captive though it came with its own prince: a wicked glare of hatred, pure and unaltered. "Please, stop…hurts…. Stop!" His last word was a half-scream that was quickly bitten off as he felt one of his fingers bend in a way he felt sure it was never meant to bend.
"Of course it hurts, stupid Elf, it was supposed to," Cortanyar grinned, in his cruelty taking immense enjoyment as he felt himself thrive off the pain, fear and humiliation radiating from his prisoner. He stopped manipulating and abusing the poor Elf's fingers long enough to help himself to a fist full of golden-hair and pull Legolas' head back so the prince was forced to meet his merciless gaze. "And to think this was all over you," he purred, smiling as the defiant look crept back to fill Legolas' eyes with a cold and indifferent stare that still glowed with anger and an icy pity.
"You and I both know that there is more to it than that. I know your game and everyone else's'. I know what you have to gain by my death and my pain, believe me," the Elf spat bitterly, recoiling when Cortanyar placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a stern squeeze. Legolas' strongly resented the fact that he tensed up beneath the man's touch, ungentle as it was.
"Do you, now, Elfy?" the man asked quietly, all too quietly and in a way that disturbed the prince more than he would like to admit to anyone. He watched with a well-masked face while Cortanyar chuckled deeply, a guttural sound from somewhere deep within. Legolas' impassive look quickly turned into a aggravated and angered expression. "Elf," the ex-healer caught his breath as he spoke. "You have no idea."
"Let go of me," the fair-haired Elf demanded flatly, not willing to find a middle ground with this man in the least. He had no business touching him, at least, not from Legolas' perspective. Suddenly becoming conscious of the fact he was grinding his teeth, the blonde Elf chastised himself quickly and silently before he put an abrupt stop to the unhealthy habit. However, this lasted only a few seconds before he began to grind his back molars once more and quickly dismissed the rather admirable idea of putting an end to the grating. He didn't have the strength and it did help him to find an escape for his pain.
Too caught up in his inner battles that were trivial and in vain, the prince finally realized that Cortanyar had complied and removed himself from the Elf without even a minute protest. Fully confused now, Legolas cast the man a quizzical look that involved a single brow that formed a perfect blonde arch and his lips turned downward in a disconcerting frown while chewing slightly on the bottom lip. Obviously, he had said something right, but he couldn't quite figure out what.
Cortanyar wasn't even acknowledging him now, but was talking with some men and from the gesticulations the fair-haired Elf saw it looked as though they were making plans for something. Wrinkling his nose slightly as he tried to iron these things out in his mind, Legolas gave up quickly, coming to the conclusion that it wasn't worth his time. He had given up figuring what these men were thinking a long time ago so why try to start up the frustrating challenge again? He shook his head inwardly before he focused his gaze on the ceiling, which suddenly became exceedingly interesting.
These beams were placed very well and had the most interesting cobwebs…. Oh, and look, that wee thing creeping across the building in a nearly inconspicuous way must be a spider. And there was another…. Incredible….
His mental ramblings were interrupted rudely as Cortanyar spoke crossly to him over his shoulder. "Elf, we are leaving this village within the hour. You will be transported to Sygul, or at least the outskirts of it where you will be promptly executed."
If he had been hoping to see the Elf tremble in fear he was sorely disappointed and in fact, he was a bit agitated to see the prince looking rather relieved. The expressive blue eyes were clouded over but not fearful or even in pain but had an annoying look of relaxation and inner peace. The Haradrim ex-healer scowled darkly as he felt anger wrap itself around his heart like a drab cloak.
Stalking over slowly to where Legolas was chained to the wall, it took him a few seconds to close the space between them but once he had he wasted no time. Legolas remained surprisingly calm though everything inside was screaming at him to cower or try to find a means of escape. But he was just so tired and he was comforted by the grim fact that all of this was going to be over soon. It wasn't the ending that had him frightened though, it was the time between now and the ending that had him afraid.
He became detachedly aware that Cortanyar had taken him by the throat and was slowly cutting off his air, leaving him with a full but unsatisfied feeling as black spots found their way into his dimming line of vision. Gapping for air, Legolas looked with wide but still peaceful eyes into Cortanyar's hardened ones. "Are you not scared of death, Elf? Or do you not know it when you see it?"
"Oh, I know it well," Legolas managed out calmly but seriously. "And death is better than whatever might be in store for me in your prince's dungeons or where ever else he might find use for me." Yellow dots began to merge with the black patches and random blotches that seemed both bound and determined to steal away his vision. Unfortunately he knew he was not going to die, not this soon, he still had at least one day ahead or more.
"You are either a liar or an idiot," growled Cortanyar before he let his grip slacken and watched for any unspoken thoughts in the Elf's blue orbs. Much to his frustration they were masked very well, a technique he guessed was hard learned from too much personal experience.
"Think what you will," the blonde Elf dismissed Cortanyar, purposefully trying to provoke the human into a rage. But also trying to ignore everything and concentrate on his composure that was constantly attempting to slip away.
There was an abrupt movement to Legolas' right, close to where the door was. Actually, he stood corrected; the sudden motion came from the door. Men were entering, the fair-haired immortal noted as the spots began to recede quickly, leaving his sharp Elven eyes back to their incomparable skills. Sighing as Cortanyar's grip slid from his neck and the captain spun around to face the approaching men, Legolas observed dismally that they carried heavy manacles. He doubted they were a part of Cortanyar's new wardrobe, though he felt it would be an improvement to the tattooed man's appearance if nothing else would with the possible exception of an arrow between his eyes.
Unable to stop a smile from curling his lips, the prince watched as the men came, clinking the chains ominously as they prepared weigh him down with the links of icy metal. Old memories resurfaced and Legolas felt his heart constrict in fear and his muscles went taut. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas watched some more warriors coming in, bearing a cage they had fastened recently from iron rods with heavy vines threaded between the bars. It was tall enough for Legolas to stand in it. Wincing as rough and cruel hands began to unlock his wrists from the loops on the walls; Legolas caught sight that the vines threaded through the bars had tiny spines or thorns on them. They obviously weren't going to allow him to escape easily or even in one piece.
The icy metal snaked around his wrists and the weight of the iron links and clasp made his arm drop instantly and he didn't try to lift it. Sighing, he transfixed his eyes on the floor and refused to meet any of the men's eyes, not because he was afraid of them but because he was afraid of them seeing he was afraid of what they would do to him. He felt the cumbrous and burdensome shackles wrap around his ankles as well and camp around his other wrist. Detachedly he realized that these were nothing compared to the burdens and bonds he felt weighing his heart down, forcing him to swallow uneasily.
With his hands fettered behind his back, the fair-haired prisoner could not defend or balance himself as he was yanked to his feet and shoved towards the cage, stumbling the entire way. These clumsy chains were making a fool of his Elven agility and it burned his heart that was already stinging with anger and hurt. Color flushed his cheeks in a wave of intense heat that was unstoppable.
But the constant comfort of upcoming death remained and he knew once he got in that cage contraption that it wouldn't be too far off. Strangely, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.
O0O
Dawn had come, Elrohir noticed dimly as he gazed at the red sky above the treetops of Mirkwood through a set of bleary steel-grey eyes. Wrinkling his nose in slight alarm, the son of Elrond gave his brother a slight nod as he cast a quick and curious glance over to see if he could read Elladan's mood from his facial expression. Fortunately, he was not hard put to see the forecast of emotions his brother possessed and the younger twin shivered. Unfortunately, he had the same emotions and knew all too well what they felt like.
A red sun had risen. Not that he was superstitious, but red suns usually meant death and everyone, literally everyone, knew it. But just because it meant death had come didn't mean it was one of your own that had died, at least, Elrohir hoped not. No, it couldn't be, because it was not logically possible. But he couldn't help but wonder if there were anyone else standing out, watching the sunrise and wondering if someone they knew, who was far away had died, but at the same time thinking, no, it was someone else, just the same as he was thinking.
Elladan caught his brother watching him and he smiled briefly before he said quietly, "a red sun, brother. Do you think it has a meaning?" His eyes looked back to Mirkwood solemnly and he followed the trees up to their tops and then the scarlet sky. He could feel Elrohir's eyes shift to look at their father, who was standing at the ford's edge, quietly observing the situation and assessing it in his mind.
"Do you?" he asked in a whisper as he stepped forward to stand beside Elrond, who looked over to him and frowned.
"The orcs still occupy the other side, but there are not so many. I think a battle took place further in the woods last night. Mirkwood's warriors caused them to suffer great loss," Elrond concluded insightfully as he put his focus back across the churning waters that looked anything but welcoming. As a matter of fact, he felt they looked cold, choppy, deep, threatening and all together devious. Valar help them, he was beginning to think like Glorfindel!
"Then we can cross and fight our way through them, could we not father?" asked the younger twin assuredly and with a bit more determination than he actually meant to present. Elladan took his place calmly and nearly inconspicuously by his identical brother's side. His low profile made Elrohir glance over long enough to confirm he was actually there before his attention was diverted back to his father.
"We might but that would be risking a lot, Elrohir. You know this. There is too much of a chance that one of you could be wounded, gravely wounded." Elrond shook his head and beneath the hood of his dark purple, velvet-like cloak they saw his eyes watching the opposite shore calculatingly.
"But if Rothinzil, or Celebalda's contingent is on the other side and they didn't destroy the entire troupe they may need aid. Not to say anything about the fact that the more time we waste, the worse things become. Father, we must do something soon." Elrohir knew he was border lining on being disrespectful but he felt that his younger brother needed him right now, urgently, and his heart was stinging with the pain that he wasn't there.
Elladan voiced his agreement with his brother. "Elrohir is right, Ada, delay only helps our adversaries. The orcs appear to be preoccupied, and I think it is possible we can slip by them without too much trouble."
Elrond was about to say something contradictory and probably wise when their was a familiar hiss, sort of whistle that caused all three Peredhils to look up at the trees just in time to see a host, quite a small host, unfortunately, of green and yellow feathered shafts descending from the trees tops and slamming into surprised brood of orcs below. A few shrill and piercing cries of death and terror went up before they were replaced by ones of anger and frustration. All three of the Rivendell Elves exchanged glances before they decided to watch and deal with any orcs that came to their side of the ford.
A bough on a tree shook, its leaves glittering as the sun reflected off the dew droplets that fell. Smiling, Elrohir immediately recognized the position of Rothinzil, the only Elf clumsy enough to be at home in the trees and still not be able to go unnoticed in their branches and foliage. It was nearly pathetic, except for the fact that somehow it actually was beneficial to Roth because his attackers often underestimated his capabilities with a sword and accuracy with a bow. Like all Elves, good-natured Rothinzil was lethal with both and could deal out death in one swift stroke or shot if he was threatened. All adversaries of the dark-haired Mirkwood warrior would be better off not to miscalculate and belittle him. Elrohir had learned that the hard way when he had spared with the mortal Elf back when Roth had still been immortal and they had only just been introduced thanks to Prince Legolas.
Elladan chuckled and muttered in a humorous and friendly tone, "well I think I know where Rothinzil is." But Elrohir noticed with a bit of alarm and perhaps a hint of distress that Elladan's smile was not filling his eyes and appeared to be completely hollow.
"And Caranfëa," Elrohir added gloomily and pointedly as he gestured briefly towards the woods where arrows, with a lethal accuracy, were coming from the tops of the trees. He smiled inwardly while his face possessed a furrowed brow and a crinkled nose as he mulled over everything in his mind.
Elladan nodded to let Elrohir know he had heard him, however he remained mute, turning things over and examining the situation inwardly.
Suddenly Elrohir commanded firmly, tugging at his elder twin's sleeve tenaciously, "come on. They will need help."
Elladan glared at Elrohir dubiously and his grey eyes effectively took on the dark and ominous look of seething storm clouds, "what about our father, Elrohir? Think sense, for Elbereth's sake!" He passed a hand over his brow and shook his head. It wasn't his fault that his twin was ceaselessly contriving schemes of lunacy, he decided consolingly. Sometimes he thought that Elrohir, Legolas, Aragorn -and the entire lot as a matter of fact, all shared the same amount of sense as a soggy piece of Lembas bread. And as a matter of fact that was between all of them combined and even then the soggy piece of Lembas bread held an advantage. It was a sad thing, really.
Elladan was pulled slowly from his inward ramblings and rather grim conclusions by Elrohir's voice and a hand shaking his shoulder. "I do think sense, Elladan! But father is…he isn't the same! We are how old, gwador-nin? I mean no disrespect to our father but really, I think the fact that he is losing his mind at the moment gives us reason to act as we see best."
Elladan nodded and said, "but I will consult Ada, and don't even try to stop me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"After having you laugh at me when I fell out of the window and could have broke my neck before you went and promptly told Erestor and everyone else, I don't think I can put anything past you…ever." Elladan's eyes still had the stormy effect but there was a bit of sunshine peeking through.
"Brother," Elrohir chided in a friendly voice. "You are rather cynical, do you know that?" He glared across the river and then at the devious, bleak, threatening water. 'This is a lovely situation, just lovely,' he grumbled mentally. He had a brother who was about as cheerful as a graveyard and Rothinzil along with Celebalda and Caranfëa needed aid. The squeals of the orcs were still too many and there were not enough cries of death coming form them.
A shove from behind alerted him that Elladan was finished consulting their father. Spinning around, ready to shove Elladan back, he came face to face with his horse, which was nuzzling him affectionately but with a wild look in his eyes as he anticipated the battle. Elrond was already mounted and so was Elladan, who snorted softly and teased Elrohir softly. "Come, hurry up. You are about as fast a cave-troll trying to walk in the sun shine."
"It's better than being about as comely as one," Elrohir retorted darkly while he stepped lightly up onto his horse and prepared to draw his sword.
"Considering I am your twin, Elrohir, I am hoping that you were simply not thinking when you said that," Elladan retorted with a tense smile that reminded Elrohir sharply of a rabbit knowing it was about to enter into a chase with a daring fox that was going to be allowed the advantage for a few moments. Spurring his horse towards the water that suddenly didn't appear as dangerous but more sly, the younger of the twin brothers was the first to enter the ford followed up by Elladan and then by Elrond.
All three had their swords drawn.
There was a shrill hissing sound that sounded like a good deal of arrows all flying and cutting through the air at once. Elrond threw back his hood decisively and looked around as he realized that was because there were a host of projectiles descending about them, smacking the water with hisses and minute splashes. His horse backed up a single and snorted, clearly stating its disagreement with the decision and his uneasiness with the chancy predicament.
In the past Elrond had always made a point to listen to his horse but right now, he knew that retreating and going back was not an option. His sons were already surging their horses up the opposite bank, leaving a dingy froth and small waves in their wake. Glorfindel was completely right, Elrond agreed silently. Elladan and Elrohir were both very reckless and that probably did account for all the wounds they had received and all the trouble they got into. However, Legolas and Aragorn, they were an entirely different story. They were reckless to a fault and it was disturbing (to say the least) how easily they seemed to find themselves enmeshed in a life or death situation.
O0O
Glorfindel couldn't remember feeling this frustrated in a long time and that included sitting through some of the longest, boring and most unnecessary lectures hosted by Lord Erestor during an already tedious council meeting in living memory. His hands clenched and unclenched methodically as he resisted the urge to grab Haldir by his neck and simply squeeze and twist until he couldn't squeeze and twist anymore. Wouldn't that be entertaining, he mused all too calmly as he reluctantly and rather grumpily allowed his horse to be lead by the March Warden of the Galadrim.
"Why do you insist on leading me like I am some sort of criminal when in fact, I am an Elf-lord of the West?" Glorfindel complained and half-growled at the silver-blonde haired Elf in a way that made Haldir frown even more. He cast a scathing glare in the direction of his 'charge' before answering.
"Glorfindel, it is my duty to keep the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn's realm safe. You make excellent practice," he finished with what Glorfindel considered to be an uncalled for smirk.
"Oh, really? Well I am sure they are going to love to hear how their guest, whom they summoned, was harassed needlessly. You know, this is worth it just to that. I mean, if I am lucky you will be placed under house arrest for this," the Gondolin Elf finished crossly.
Haldir smirked. "I am so concerned," he retorted snidely, steering Glorfindel's horse around a tree. A branch snapped back, and would have slapped Glorfindel full in the face if his reflexes hadn't proved to be quicker. A withering glare was shot at the silver-haired Lorien Elf as Glorfindel righted himself on the horse quicker than Haldir was able to realize he had nearly been knocked off.
"Oh, indeed, I can tell," remarked Glorfindel in a morbid mutter under his breath. Rolling his eyes, he finally clenched his jaw, deciding that Haldir was not wroth his time. If this overly confident March Warden wanted to drag him through Lorien he supposed that he should feel grateful he wasn't blindfolded. Snickering inwardly, he remembered when Erestor had come back to Rivendell in a rather…displeased mood after such an incident. The dark-haired counselor had sworn up and down he would never even vaguely consider getting with yelling distance of the Golden Wood. But, Glorfindel's long memory continued to his amusement, Erestor went back the following fall.
Haldir was completely ignoring him now, something he was grateful for as well. He didn't think he could take much more of that overly calm voice commanding him to do anything anymore. Once more the urge to grab Haldir's neck and choke the life out of him while watching his eyes bulge out of his head became an appealing idea and a calculating smile spread across Glorfindel's face. It wouldn't be the dignified thing to do, of course, and Erestor would lecture him for being entirely undiplomatic, but it was well worth it.
TBC…….
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