Part Nine

Dungeons and Dark Thoughts

I walk to the edge again, searching for the truth

Taken by the memories of all that I've been through

If I could hear your voice, I know that I would be okay

I know that I've been wrong but I'm begging you to stay,

Won't you stay...

Will you be here? Or will I be alone.

Will I be scared? You'll teach me how to be strong

And if I fall down will you help me carry on?

I cannot do this alone.

12 Stones

Isn't it amazing how quickly things can go very, very wrong? It is a phenomenon I would rather never have discovered though, as the aftermath of it left me now chained in dungeon, and barely able to move. Sometimes I really thought that it hadn't been worth resurrecting myself, it would have been so much easier to just stay dead. A muffled thump from across the room snapped me out of my reverie in an instant and I brought my head up sharply, squinting into the gloom. He was back. The torturer, the man who had kept me locked down here along with Legolas and Osellë. I wriggled my shoulders apprehensively against the wall, sending the chains into a roar of rattling, clanging and bashing against the unyielding stone. When the noise died down I spoke up, "Verceron. I told you never to come near me again." I twisted my upper lip into sneer even though it was pointless. There was no light down here, so I was for all intents and purposes invisible. This would have been a good thing if I hadn't already been chained to a wall. His face was still masked by the darkness all around, but I could almost feel his smirk radiating onto my skin, "Venea," he greeted, his voice husky and grating, "I knew you never really meant it." I hissed at him in Elvish then, venting my fear, loathing, anger and hate in a steaming tirade. The only problem with Elvish is that it really is too beautiful a language to curse in, whatever you say it always sounds nice. I was vaguely pondering this dilemma as I ranted and raved, the curses flowing easily from my tongue, when I noticed that Verceron was wincing, his eyes screwed up in pain. I paused momentarily and cocked my head at him slightly in awe. Could my words actually be hurting him? I grinned, what luck that the way to hurt this foul creature was words, that fortunately required nothing but usage of the mouth, and my tightly bound hands were unnecessary. I opened my mouth, speaking common this time, so that he could understand me, "So weak all of a sudden, Verceron? What happened to sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?" I asked audaciously, quoting the rhyme we had sung together in childhood. He gave a low growl and flung himself forwards, catching my jaw in a bone-crunching grip with his mud-caked hands, "Don't be giving me cause to hurt you now, Vénea," he said, his tone light, but his words dripping with threat. "I've known you a long time and it would be a shame to see anything happen to you now," He put a threatening emphasis on the word 'shame' and my fear rose a notch. I swallowed back the choking grip anxiety had on my voice and spoke out around the filthy hand on my jaw, "Too long you have known me now. I thought I had seen the last of you that night, long ago. But if you have come back for a second attempt…" The hand on my jaw released it's stranglehold and Verceron took a wary step backwards, forgetting momentarily, I think, that I was still chained to the wall. Apparently he hadn't forgotten our last meeting after all… "I see you still have the limp," I commented, making no attempt to keep the pride out of my voice. A stray shaft of moonlight had found it's way through the dungeon grille and by its luminescence I could see the grimace that flittered briefly across his features. I masked my smile of triumph. "How could I forget?" he yowled, his voice rising at least an octave in fury. "You marked me an abuser! My reputation was ruined! When the orcs came they offered me my chance of revenge," his eyes seemed unfocused, resting on neither myself nor anything within the confines of the cell we were holed up inside, but to something beyond, like a memory visible while waking. My shoulders tensed in fury, how could he speak so compassionately of the orcs, vile creatures, that had murdered my mother and so many others? I flew as far forward as the chains would allow me, straining every muscle to reach him and tear that mocking smile from his jeering face, "You know nothing!" I screamed, fury carrying my voice and echoing from every corner of the dark room, " Idiot, you deserved to be known for what you are! Rape is not something I can easily forget, it is well that you failed or I would have killed you myself, and not left you to the orcs!" His smile did not change, almost as if he was enjoying, and had been expecting, the fury I had just displayed. He moved closer and whispered softly in my ear, "I knew I would make you pay," he whispered, his breath tickling my neck and I shuddered violently in revulsion, "You and the rest of the villagers. Sinful, they called me, and wicked. They shall never speak again, I saw to that. Your mother was the worst. I told them how to kill her, to the last detail, but I said to spare you." He moved his face so that it nuzzled into my neck and I cried out and writhed in terror, desperate to get away, memories of the last time he had been this close flooding me. I squirmed as far away from him as the chains allowed, but struggle as I might, I could get no further. It was a small matter for him to move and capture me again, I suppressed the hopeless moan that rose from me, this time there would be no escape. Just when I thought the worst was about to happen he paused. Looking up at me he moved his face until he was eye-level with me, and spoke softly, almost wistfully, "I never meant to hurt you. I told the orcs not to kill you. I saved you life. I did so much for you…" he was no longer speaking to me now, but talking as if he were living a dream out loud. "The orcs took me to Mordor. I met the master there, and he said he already knew of my troubles and how you had hurt me. He said he could help, that you would love me in the end. I willingly followed him, and he kept me alive, for many, many years. Then he fell," growled Verceron, his voice suddenly menacing, "I saw that one," he pointed furiously at Legolas, "take great pleasure in his death! I wanted my revenge on him, but I never expected to find you here. I gave up long ago on my dreams of retribution against you, who hurt me the worst." He turned to face me again, his voice soft. "But I am lonely since my master fell. There is no one to talk to. If you would be my wife, I will not kill you." He finished brightly, thinking that this was an offer I could not refuse. He couldn't have been more wrong. It was an offer I could not accept, even if doing so meant my death. With a nod of my head I beckoned him closer and he came, like a puppy expectant of a treat, I lowered my voice to a sultry whisper, "Verceron," I muttered, "Yes?" his voice was half impatient, half anticipating, "Go to Hell! I should have finished you when I had a chance! You will never have me, Yrch!" I finished bawling in his ear, so that he leapt back a step. When he looked at me next, his eyes were hard; I had killed any pity he still had for me then stone dead. I raised my chin and waited for him to strike me down, I was strangely unafraid, but then perhaps dying is easier the second time round. My only regret was that I was unable to see Legolas as my last sight. As the thing I loved most he was the thing I most wanted to see, in fact the very reason I had come back. Tears that the thought of my death or rape had not summoned flowed freely now. Verceron smiled, but it was not a nice or even handsome smile; to me it seemed wholly evil. "I think it would be worse punishment for you to live," he decreed, "maybe even to watch that one," he jerked his thumb at Legolas once more, "suffer and die before you do. It is more fitting I think." With that he turned and left me there, as the walls seemed to constrict around me, hemming me in with only dark thoughts and despair for company.

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

Evanescence – My Immortal

Midnight black. There was nothing else left in this world, only darkness. Why not just give in? Follow the darkness that beckoned into the unknown realm of Mandos and, beyond, the Undying Lands. He feared this unknown adventure far less than he feared opening his eyes. Words came to his ears, but dull and distant as if over the roar of a waterfall. Some were indistinct, some were clear, but all seemed to blur together and it was so hard to focus… With an extreme effort Legolas lifted his head slightly, sending it into a whirling vortex of agony, but he pushed past the pain in an attempt to hear the voice more clearly. It was calling out to him now, yes, he could definitely hear his name being called. Was it the summons to the Halls of Mandos, was his time to pass beyond finally come? But the more he heard of the voice, the more he thought he recognised it, but wasn't that impossible? Memory slammed into him harshly, it's blow fiercer than a tonne of Mithril. It was possible; it was Vénea who called out to him! Groggily he made a supreme effort to open his eyes, but the world seemed to crash down around him, when he opened them even a crack, so he squeezed them tightly shut and instead ventured to speak out to her, "Vénea?" His voice came out in a harsh rasp and he coughed slightly. Apparently he had been long without water. There was an answering rattle of chains from the opposite of the cavern and a voice questioned softly in the darkness, "Legolas?" he was too tired to give a verbal response, so he just nodded tiredly. There was a pause and then Vénea spoke again, her voice soft and questioning, "Legolas are you still with me? I can't see you," His head sky-rocketed upwards and he forced his eyes open, seeing only gloom, "Has he blinded you? If he has I will-" a soft chuckle cut him off. " I am not blind, but perhaps you are. If you had opened your eyes you would have realised it is near pitch-black in here and I have not the Elven eyesight." Legolas sagged slightly against his bonds. Bonds? Reaching out slightly he found that he was tightly chained to a wall, with both his wrists and ankle in manacles. Sighing, he heard a short laugh from the opposite side of the room. Before long Vénea spoke out again, "Even in a pitch black room I can see the resigned expression on your face when you realised you were chained. Not to mention that glare you're sending me now." Legolas broke off the frown in surprise, it had been a while since anyone had read him so easily, and he hadn't realised how much he had missed it. Even while chained to a wall, in what Legolas took to be the dungeons of Mirkwood, in near total darkness, doubtlessly captive to some maniac, Vénea could make him laugh. Valar, he had missed her! He was just about to open his mouth and tell her everything, when he heard the distinctive screech of a wooden door scraping against stone. Someone was coming. Legolas froze listening.

It was such a relief to me that Legolas was finally awake. I had spent near two days alone in this cursed darkness, much longer and I think I would have begun to go stark raving mad. We had been having a surprisingly normal conversation, considering the circumstances, when he broke off suddenly. I took it to be that he had heard someone or something coming, and I dreaded what was to come. What could be better than having my two ex's meet in such wonderful circumstances? One married to another woman, my best friend no less, and the other a servant of Sauron. Could Fate be any crueller? Apparently so, and my heart sank as I saw what Verceron was dragging with him into the dungeon. Slung over his shoulder, even in the dim light opening the door cast, I could see the limp body of Osellë hanging loosely. And I got the feeling Legolas had an even better view. With a cry I saw him throw himself forwards, straining furiously at his bonds, and I would have done the same thing, had I not spent the previous two days doing just that, and I now felt that even one more attempt would sever my arms permanently from my shoulders. So it was with simmering hatred I watched him fasten the shackles around Osellë's wrists and ankles. My fury and rage were dangerously near to bubbling over as Verceron cruelly slapped the unconscious elf on the head, as if in payback. It was my vehement wish that she had given him hell. Legolas let loose an angry tirade of Elvish at this evil treatment, but Verceron barely flinched, instead drawing closer to the elf Prince and smiling viciously. "You have no idea how much I would love to kill you right now, Prince," somehow Verceron managed to make even the common tongue sound like the black speak of Mordor and I added it mentally to his list of other qualities, such as sarcastic and pure evil. "But I've devised a far more painful punishment for you." He practically hissed in Legolas' ear and I could see the Elf turn away in revulsion. I pitied him tremendously, but at the same time I greatly feared what this 'more painful punishment' was to be. Verceron wasted no time in explaining and he quickly crossed the room to my side, Legolas' eyes widened slightly, in understanding and fear, but I remained oblivious, getting more perplexed by the moment. I frowned at Verceron in anger and mild confusion, but all was made clear to me moments later, and I think I would rather have remained oblivious, "I'll torture her and make you listen to each and every little sound she makes." Two feelings crushed in on me all at once, relief that Legolas at least would not be hurt, and dread of what would happen to me, and that I would not be able to mask my pain, and be brave, as I so badly wanted to be. The latter was, to my regret, the stronger, and I writhed suddenly, much to Verceron's amusement, "Killing two birds with one stone, as you might say," he muttered and I spat at him. It hit his shoulder with a satisfying splash and Legolas lifted his head slightly in appreciation. I got the distinct feeling that it was something he would have very much liked to do, but was too noble. I had no such restraint. Verceron wiped it away almost absently and reached up to remove the shackles from my wrists, I began to struggle profusely, trying to both escape his grip and make things as difficult for him as possible. I succeeded at least in the latter and it took him a full five minutes to release my restraints, but I could not shake his vice-like grip. My legs were weak and weary from being stood on for two days with no rest so I could not coax them into rebellion, and the leg shackles fell away quickly. For the first time in ages I stood free. Almost. As the feeling began to flow back into my poor stiff legs, some of my control of them returned and I drove my left heel with all the force I could muster towards his leg with the limp. My target hit home and there was a satisfying crunch of bone smashing, I allowed myself a brief triumphant grin. My triumph was short-lived as he soon delivered a smashing blow of his own to my left cheek, it split the flesh and left me dazed and reeling. I heard Legolas hiss and his chains rattled loudly as he struggled hard against them. I was too dazed to respond, but struggled limply as Verceron began to drag me towards the dungeon door. "I never thought you'd try that trick again Vénea," he muttered harshly, his voice grating in my ear, "I still have the limp from last time." At this Legolas started in surprise, "The limp is Vénea's doing?" he said loudly. He let out a mirthless laugh, throwing his head back. He had never looked more like the rugged, wild Prince of the Woodland Realm, and I was filled with an unexplainable pride. "I am not surprised. And to think she's been going easy on me all these years!" he cried out, loudly once more, his voice filled with false mirth. Verceron did not halt in his pace, nor was he distracted from me as I suspected had been Legolas' intention. "You would never have been man enough for her," he growled as the door slammed shut silencing Legolas' screaming protests and sealing my doom.

"Giving birth was worse," I ground out with as much strength as I could summon. Verceron grimaced and twisted the cog once more. The screaming agony of all my limbs was threatening to push me into darkness, but I fought against its call. The rack that I was bound to was a cruel implement, its very nature and purpose reeking of the darkness of Mordor. For the first time I felt pity for the creature Gollum. Someone had once told me he was tortured by one of these things…My pity was short-lived as those, and all other thoughts, were pushed out of my head with another blinding wave of searing pain. Dimly I clung to the last shreds of consciousness as I heard an Elvish voice screaming out in what I can only describe as physical agony somewhere down the dark and winding corridor. But I was far beyond his reach.

Sometimes I just knew that waking up was a mistake. This was one of those times. Blissful darkness had fallen some time ago and I knew not how long I had wandered in clouded dreams. But something called me back now, something that would not let me rest… Blearily I forced my unwilling eyes to open and was dismayed at what I saw, barely visible in the light drifting through the opened dungeon grille. Both Legolas and Osellë were conscious and crying out for me, calling my name in endless repeating patterns. It was not improving my headache, and I wasted not time in telling them so, " If you are seeking to split my head in two, you are well on your way to achieving it." I ground out, my voice a lot weaker than I would have liked. Osellë's shoulders sagged in relief and she relaxed to hang limply from the shackles, but Legolas only strained harder against his restraints, "What did he do to you? This is my fault; I have never been able to protect you. I should have-" I cut him off wearily, raising my left hand as far as the chains would allow. "Many times have we had this discussion, meleth-" I cut of the term of endearment hastily, "Legolas. It is an argument you have never won and you will not change the record now." He spoke no more, but within his eyes burned a silent fire, which spoke a language that needed no words. He was both furious and deeply ashamed. The feelings were so strong I had to look away to hide the tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I could not deal with this now. My own feelings were too raw and near the surface, and I knew I would not have the self-control to hold them in check. I was saved the terrible prospect of having to face up to my emotional doom, by the entrance of Verceron into the dungeon. Which, I suppose, was a doom in itself. I found myself pondering dimly the irony that the majority of light I had seen in the past few days came when the darkest creature I had ever known was near. But the full irony of the situation was lost on me as the majority of my brain was occupied with battling the debilitating waves of pain and nausea that had plagued me since I awoke. I raised my chin in as defiant a manner as I could muster and turned my face away, pointedly ignoring the man. I heard a chuckle and a scrape of booted feet as my actions snagged on Verceron's interest. Damn, that had not been my intention at all, I had at least meant to mildly vex him, not give the loathsome thing any entertainment. Frustration seemed to bypass all logical routes of thought in my brain, communicating straight from impulse to mouth and no sooner had I spoken the words did I realise what I had said, "Evil spawn of Mordor! You are worse than the dirt on which you stand, I am repulsed to think you ever touched me!" That was not the best of plans and I cursed myself under my breath as the heads of Legolas and Osellë rose sharply, graced with matching furious expressions. I made a terrible comment about Verceron' mother in dwarvish, made all the worse by the fact I had once known Verceron's mother and she had actually been very nice. Neither Legolas nor Osellë even gave me a glance, obviously remembering all too well about my previous comment to Verceron. Now I was going to have to explain, I opened my mouth to do just that, but Verceron had other ideas slamming my head back against the wall he forced a foul-tasting rag into my mouth. The repulsive taste was vaguely familiar, and I realised with numb revulsion and disbelief that it tasted very much the same as the last rag that had been in mouth, last time forced upon me by Mamë. I attempted to get a better look at the offensive scrap of material, surely it could not be the same one returned to plague me? Did my trend of bad luck with plant pots extend to dirty rag cloths as well now? I was disturbed from my horrified revelation as Verceron's words dimly penetrated my aching mind, "We were lovers once," It was my turn to jerk my head up sharply. I was still too dizzy and in too much pain to risk movement, but I recited a number of curses, annoyingly muffled by the aforementioned rag. No one took any notice, but I was too busy trying to catch Verceron's words to be too miffed at that. Verceron was facing away from me, seemingly almost whispering into Legolas' ear, the expression on Legolas' face told me just about everything I needed to know. I tried in vain to displace the rag, but to no avail, the dratted thing held firm and I was forced to watch in utter helplessness what I was about to witness.

Legolas' blood boiled. How dare anyone speak such of Vénea? His words were lies, they had to be, Vénea was not like that, she would never have done what he said she had. He knew her that well at least. A voice broke into his thoughts, but not from the outside world. Osellë's telepathic voice shouted inside his mind, "You knew her that well. Who can say how death will change a mortal? She was your wife for but nine years! What is that to truly begin to know a person? She was good to you, yes, but she was good to many, myself included. She betrayed some of them." Even telepathically the last sentence was bitter and Legolas winced slightly. Telepathic conversations carried a hefty mental impact and someone screaming inside your head was not an easy thing to ignore. He straightened slightly, replying to Osellë, without turning to face her, his gaze never leaving Verceron and the shadow that was Vénea behind him. "I know her still. She was, and is, not who he says she is! Would you have had her betray her own heart for you? She followed the path she was destined to tread, perhaps her return was foreseen, perhaps not, but she has returned. We must face the consequences." Legolas broke of the contact and started sharply as Verceron leaned forwards sneering. "You don't seem to be paying me any mind, Elf. I would torture Vénea some more, but I think it would kill her and end the fun far too soon. No, I think I shall have to settle for hurting you this time." His voice grated unpleasantly like a blade dragged over rocks and his breath was foul and reeking. He pulled back slightly and gestured down towards his weapon belt. With that he drew a short dagger from it and drove it in until only the hilt was visible, protruding from Legolas' stomach. A slight twitch to the side and Legolas would have been fatally gutted, but Verceron's aim was cruelly precise. With a satisfied smirk he withdrew the blade and Legolas slumped forward over the injury, his mind reeling in agony. Verceron wandered back almost casually to where Vénea was crouched, watching him through wide, horrified eyes. Calmly he released her shackles and let the metal restraints clang back uselessly against the wall. "You're in no shape to be escaping and I can't be having him dying before he's seen your pretty eyes close for the last time. See to it that he lives the night." He growled and left, not turning to see Vénea race to Legolas' side and cradle his head in her hands, whispering rapidly in Elvish. 'They'll have a fun night,' he thought with dark mirth a she left the chamber. He was not paying any attention to the outside world, so lost was he in thoughts of evil revenge, but if he had and if he had understood the Elvish words screamed down the lantern-lit corridor after him, he might have felt the first beginnings of fear. He would never know how soon the promise would come to pass, "I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I do, hellspawn! You won't live to see another night!"

Legolas' eyes were closed. Not tightly squeezed shut, nor accompanied by the steady breathing of sleep. Just closed. Panic rose swiftly in a towering wave inside of me, No, no, no, no… This can't be happening, he can't be dead! I would not let him be dead! I screamed out a sentence, quickly masking my curses in Elvish, I did not want Verceron to know my promise as even he might have the dim wits to begin to suspect something, and I did not want him to have any forewarning. I held Legolas' chin up slightly, trying not to wince as I accidentally wiped some of my blood onto his cheek. It contrasted so starkly with his drastically pale skin it stood out like a flaring beacon. He was so pale… I fought to hold the tragic whimper inside of me even as it struggled to break out. This was not how it was supposed to go! I was supposed to be the one dying, not him! It had never occurred to me before, but I supposed then that death was actually hardest for the ones left behind. They have no way of knowing if their loved ones are safe and happy or, as I was, desperately sad. I clung dismally to the hope that I was not about to experience that grief first hand. I tapping on my shoulder annoyed me casually, as does a buzzing fly, I attempted to brush it away but my hand was caught in a bone-crunching grip. I drew in a sharp breath and whirled to face my new tormentor. The unnaturally bright eyes of Osellë met mine. "Help him," she ground out, every word clipped and filled with pain, " I will not stand by and watch him die, because you are to ignorant to help and I am still chained." I was too wrung-out to even offer her a glare; instead I spoke up, "What should I do?" I questioned, my voice trembling slightly, "I am no healer," my voice came out in a plaintive whisper and I cursed myself inwardly for this weakness, but there was nothing I could do. My body's reactions had long been beyond my control. Osellë's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained unchanged, "Press on the wound to stanch the bleeding. He will not like it though, so you may have to restrain his arms." Osellë carried on talking and her words drifted through my mind, seeming to echo around in there until all I could hear was endless repetitions. My hands moved and I watched as they gently caught up Legolas' wrists and, with one hand, held them firmly as the other pressed a wad of clothing, that I dimly recognised as my outer tunic, to the wound. Legolas moaned slightly and struggled, causing me to snap sharply back into full awareness. I rocked forwards, tightening my grip on his wrists and whispering soothingly in Elvish, "Gwiil nin-mellon, uuyech er. Peace my friend, you are not alone." Legolas turned his head towards the sound of my voice and the familiar words, though spoken more often by Aragorn, and quieted immediately. Peeling back the tunic gingerly, I was immensely relieved to see that the flow of blood from the wound had almost stopped. Elven healing would never cease to amaze me. Osellë, too, let out a sigh of relief and sagged slightly against the wall. Wearily I turned my head towards her, careful to keep the pressure on Legolas' wound, and spoke softly, my words sounding like a shout in the hanging silence, "What has happened between us that we have come to this." Osellë did not face me, but her voice, when she spoke, sounded even wearier than mine, "I believe it is the curse of love. That can bind two people together as strongly as it can rip them apart." My head hung forward, all the adrenaline and fear that had kept me upright draining away as the weight and severity of my injuries flowed back into my exhausted brain. I slid down the wall, opening up at least two more welts on my already bleeding arms, but I was too fatigued to care. What was a little more blood-loss? Osellë, however, was more concerned. Pulling forwards against her chains, she spoke softly, the uncovered tension in her voice setting off dim alarm bells in my mind. I pushed myself away from the wall slightly, waving away her concern, "'Tis nothing to fret over. I am not the one who has been stabbed, nor the one who has been beaten into unconsciousness. I believe your concern is misplaced." My words came out with more of an edge to them than I had intended, and I opened my eyes to slits and pushed myself fully away from the wall. "Forgive me, my words were ungracious. I am honoured by your concern, but truly my wounds pain me but a little. I will be well by morning." I lied through my teeth, hoping the words came out sounding natural enough to the elf. A slow burning feeling had consumed my body, spreading out slowly from my almost numb arms and legs and was now at the point where my whole upper body felt like it was on fire. I neglected to mention this to Osellë on account of the fact that it was Legolas who needed our undivided attention at the moment, besides I would last out the night. Or so I sincerely hoped… I pushed that thought from my mind and smiled sweetly at Osellë. My brilliant smile slowly faltered and faded as it was met with an unrelenting glare from the female elf I had been trying to disarm. "You don't fool me, Vénea. I have lived with that one," Osellë jerked her head towards Legolas without taking her eyes off me, "for two hundred years and I know all the tricks. Believe me," the look on her face was practically daring me to disagree, so I pointedly looked away. I heard a distinctly un-elven grunt of disgust, followed by the impatient rattling of chains. I winced in anticipation of what was coming next, "Vénea…" the word itself was a threat and I momentarily toyed with the idea of trying to get as far away from here as possible, very quickly. But I knew it was truly impossible (where would I go anyway?) so I decided to face my doom with dignity, "Yes, Osellë?" The next thing I knew was a blinding pain in my ear, I squealed and tried to bat away the offending hand and its vice-like grip, but my scrabbling had no effect on the ferocity of the squeeze. I squealed again, arching my back slightly, and crouching forward in almost a frog-like position, so to put as little strain on the ear as possible. So much for my dignity. The voice of Osellë sounded in my poor, crushed ear, as sweet as ever, "Now, my dear, care to let me take a look at your wounds?"

The morning never came. Or at least that was what it felt like down in that dark, dank and dreary cell. The only indicator that the sun was indeed up was a slight lessening in the bone-deep cold that radiated from the unyielding stone walls on every side, and that temperature rise was only very slight. Legolas had not stirred that whole night. Osellë and I had held vigil through the darkness and both our heads were nodding. Perhaps mine more so, after all Osellë was an elf and, though she had been beaten beyond what would have killed me, her endurance still outlasted mine. I was rather annoyed at this, after all it is never good for one's pride to be told by someone with two black eyes and at least three cracked ribs that you need to 'rest and regain your strength'. I was severely irked and I knew Osellë could tell and was well aware of the reasons behind my irritation, but she never once acknowledged it. I began to wonder if the murder ruling might be considered just, if whoever had made of that law had to spend a night alone in a cell with Osellë. I was just moving on to ponder if it was possible that if I stared long enough at her head it might just explode by the sheer force of my will and growing desperation, when something in the darkness shifted beside me. A cold hand fastened itself in a stranglehold around my neck.

I have him! That was the one thought in Legolas' confused brain as he tightened his grip on the white throat in his grasp. Now I will make him pay for… Legolas' train of thought broke off sharply as he recognised the hand that gripped his own, trying to pry his hand away from her throat. Vénea? Immediately his hand flew to his side and Legolas stepped as far back as the wall would allow. He had passed out earlier only to come to a kind of hazy semi-awareness about two minutes ago. He tried moved his hand up to massage his forehead in an attempt to clarify his jumbled mind, and found that he had no hands to spare. One was wrapped in a protective grip about his throbbing midriff, while the other seemed to be stuck somehow… Opening his eyes Legolas blinked in surprise at the pale face that stared fiercely into his, his hand firmly snagged in her grip. "Vénea, I didn't mean to do that! I mistook you for-" He got no further. Vénea held up the hand that wasn't busy restraining his own and spoke softly with only a vague hint of annoyance, "Very well. Though it is not pleasant to be strangled, especially not for the second time in one day," Vénea's attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. Legolas' expression darkened instantly and some of the confusion lifted from his eyes. "Verceron." He said darkly. A loud bang from just outside the door distracted them both and the conversation was quickly cut off as Verceron himself strolled into the confines of the dungeon. "Saying our final goodbyes are we?" he questioned, without waiting for a reply. "Just as well. You're about to die."

I turned away from Legolas, crouching slightly in front of the injured elf, hoping to shield him at least partially from Verceron with my own body. Legolas pushed me aside and rose slowly to a fully standing position. This I could understand, he wanted to meet Verceron standing on his own two feet, it was after all the only way to retain any dignity in a situation like this. I followed suit and rose also to meet Verceron. Oh, yes, I thought, pulling myself up to my full height, I'd rather die standing. And I was sure I was going to die. Verceron stood idly against the opposite side of the cell, lounging against the wall. "Oh, how touching," he crooned, "Together in everything, even unto death," His face twisted into an expression of mock sadness, "What a shame you're about to be eternally parted. You," he snarled, pointing viciously at Legolas, "I've finally devised a way to punish you and gain my retribution on Vénea. I'll let you go," he finished cheerfully, noticing the disbelieving looks between Legolas and I. Had Verceron truly lost his wits? What kind of punishment was it to set us free? "Oh, no," he growled, an evil smile twisting his face. "Not both of you. Just those two," he whispered softly, indicating with a sweep of his hand a horrified Legolas and the still sleeping Osellë. I was stunned. Indeed this was a cruelty to rival the Dark Lord himself in design, surely no other could have come up with such an evil fate! Verceron was still grinning insanely and it was all I could do to stare at him in utter disbelief. Surely this was too cruel, even for him. "Please," I whispered, not caring if I was begging, "Not this…" Verceron's smile grew even wider, though I would have thought it to be impossible, and he let out a laugh totally devoid of humour. "I have never been more certain," he promised, clearly enjoying every moment of this torture. I have never been so torn. It was a relief in a way, that I would be the only one to pay the ultimate price at Verceron's hands, but if it was mercy it was a cruel one. Words wouldn't form on my tongue and I felt strangely choked, almost as if I was suffocating. Legolas looked exactly as I felt and my heart, at least the part of it that was aware, bled for him. Verceron grasped my left arm in a grip that felt like it would crush the bone, and I winced, allowing him to drag me to the shackles at the other end of the dungeon. Once I was bound once more to the wall, Verceron retraced his steps to Legolas. Unclasping his and Osellë's shackles with a dismissive kind of speed as if he just wanted them out of the way so he could get back to me. I felt sick. Was I just to be abandoned then? I rebuked myself for this thought almost instantly. There was nothing else to be done in this case, and I for one wanted no more blood spilt on my account. I turned my head away as Osellë and Legolas were pushed towards the door, Osellë, having regained consciousness, was struggling against Verceron's grip, but she was still too weak to break free. Legolas was not even trying to struggle, he supported Osellë firmly to the door, keeping a strong grip on her arm to keep her from stumbling, and I could not stop the tears from falling freely down my face. This was it, then, his final choice. Osellë had won as I had always feared, and yet somehow known, that she would. They were leaving me to die alone in a dark dungeon at the hands of a madman. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, the next part I did not want to see, the part where Legolas walked out of my life for good and the door slammed shut behind him blocking out all light and hope. I couldn't watch that. I heard a short cry of surprise from Verceron, and then what sounded like a scuffle, for a brief moment hope flared within me like a beacon. Had they decided I was worth saving after all? I raised my head and opened my eyes to slits, peering into the gloom. The next thing I heard was the thwack of a door closing definitely and even the slight light from beyond it was extinguished. All my hope went out with it. My head sank lower down and I felt as if the bottom had just dropped clean away from my stomach. This was not at all what I had planned my new life to be like, it had all gone so wrong…

And still I dream he'll come to me

And we will live the years together

But there are dreams that cannot be

And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living

So different now from what it seemed

Now life has killed

The dream I dreamed

Les Miserables – I Dreamed A Dream

A noise from the darkness disturbed my thoughts and with his words my heart swelled and broke with love and sorrow. "Osellë leaves," the voice of Legolas sounded in the gloom, "but I stay." A cruel laugh was heard from Verceron, and I stiffened with rage and fierce protectiveness, "Leave him alone, you spawn of Mordor! You are beneath even the earthworms under his feet," I yelled in what I hoped was Verceron's general direction, but my words garnered no reply only a slight sigh, from Legolas. That took me aback, it was the kind of sigh he used when I had just done something very stupid. Even though I knew he could not see me I began to blush slightly, and voiced my annoyance. "I spoke in defence of you, it does not merit one of your sighs!" I heard the sound of swords being drawn and my heart flew into my throat. That damn elf had best not get himself killed! There was a clash of metal, but the darkness surrounded me like a curtain and I couldn't see past that infernal gloom much though I strained to. A few moments later I received a reply I did not expect, " You well deserved 'one of my sighs' as you put it. Here I am fighting to the death to save you, and you go and annoy the very person I'm trying to save you from!" I was momentarily stunned speechless: badly injured, fighting in the pitch black with a servant of Sauron, and Legolas was rebuking me for being lax about self-preservation? "Now I know how Aragorn feels," I muttered, mostly to myself, in exasperation. "What was that?" came a voice from across the room, and I responded with as much innocence as I could muster, considering the situation. "Nothing. I was just making a comment about your constant mothering of me." I knew the response that would garner, I was just hoping our conversation would not distract Legolas too much, but would annoy Verceron to the point that he would make a stupid mistake and Legolas could slip in and get him. Legolas' response was indignant, as I had expected, "I do not mother anyone! I suppose you've been talking to Aragorn again, that man is a very bad influence on everyone! Besides, you were obviously in over your head." This infuriated me; how dare he suggest I was incapable of taking care of myself! "I'll have you know I was in perfect control of the situation," I sniffed haughtily. "In fact, you ruined my escape plan." There was an incredibly loud disbelieving snort from the darkness. "Yes… of… course… you… were." Legolas replied in between strikes and parries. The pair had strayed into the shaft of light from the grille and I could see the taught fury on Verceron's face at being so easily dismissed, despite the fact the two of them were locked in a fight to the death. "You had everything under perfect control," he continued as Verceron backed off slightly and began circling, looking for an opportunity to attack."You weren't chained to a wall, unable to move, badly injured, and crying your eyes out, no. You had a plan all along. And you didn't want me to stay because I'd mess it up. How simply obvious, what a fool I've been thinking I would save your life." His voice sounded tired and strained, though he hid it well. I knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. But, his words hit too close to home in my heart. Was that what he truly thought of me? If it was, then now was the time to get things straight once and for all. "No, I whispered to the pair, still circling each other warily. " I didn't want you to stay because I love you." Both of them stopped dead, turning to stare at me, Legolas in open-eyed wonder, and I thought I saw joy dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. Verceron's stare was of malice, and hate. Legolas was distracted his guard was down, his sword was still gripped in his hands, pointing upwards, but its tip was drooping. Verceron seized his chance. Spinning like a black devil he lanced himself forwards with a booming cry of something in the black tongue. Legolas brought his sword up slightly at the last second in a desperate parry, but it was too late. Verceron's blade had already slipped past his defences and all Legolas did was alter itscourse. Instead of piercing his heart, which had been Verceron's intended target, the blade drove into Legolas' torso. And pierced his lung. Legolas did not make a sound; he sank slowly to the ground, Verceron's sword protruding from him like a dark and unnatural third limb. His eyes began to glaze over and I was frozen, every nightmare, every horror I had ever imagined playing out now before my eyes. I began to scream. And I didn't stop. I didn't even stop when the wooden door flew across the room and a figure appeared in the swirling eddies of dust and wood chips. Aswen stepped into the cell, her midnight black hair bound in a loose braid over on shoulder, her sword drawn and ready. She looked furious and I had never been more pleased to see her, or that particular look on her face, a look that could wilt cabbages at ten paces. The last time I had seen thatlook had been when I had exchanged her best perfume for dissolved itching powder in water. She spent her entire anniversary night scratching relentlessly and convinced both Eldreth and Legolas that she had fleas, I had to hide behind Legolas for a week to avoid loosing the use of all the body parts an extremely vexed Aswen could reach. I hid a small wicked smile: Verceron was for it now. She walked straight over to me and smashed her sword down on my wrist restraints. I was surprised when I went flying forwards, but not immensely so. Apparently I had been pulling against my fetters so hard that the sudden release sent me flying, but I used my momentum to reach Legolas where he lay. He had not moved from where he had fallen, but when I laid my hand on his chest I could feel the faint rise and fallof his breath and I was so relieved that for a moment I couldn't actually move. Seconds later I was forced to. Aswen and Verceron thundered past me, the sudden rush of air pushing a few straggling strands of hair from my face. They were fighting ferociously, Aswen throwing fast and furious attacks and Verceron parrying them almost lazily. It was then that I felt my first pang of fear: surely Verceron should be showing a little more fear if he was in even any remote danger of being beaten? But he was not. In fact, if anything, Verceron almost looked relaxed, like a cat that hasn't got the cream yet, but knows exactly where it is and that no one else can get it. I narrowed my eyes at him and glared, hoping to make him falter by the sheer force of my will alone. My glare was no more effective than it had been when Legolas was fighting with him, and the need for Verceron to lose had been all the greater then. Aswen was being forced to go on the defensive. Slowly, bit by bit, Verceron was backing her into a corner, his strikes becoming ever faster and harder for Aswen to parry. It was as if I was watching history repeat itself, and the repeat was no easier to bear than the original had been. The only difference was that last time it was Legolas that Verceron had been pushing back, and look how well that turned out. I wanted to scream, to cry out, to fly forward and drag Verceron away from my friend, but, for not the first time, that day I was frozen to the spot. I could only watch in horror as Verceron leaned all his weight onto the blade, forcing Aswen to lean back until it reached a point thatit looked like she had either to give in or snap, when something changed. Aswen smiled. And started pushing back. Now it was Verceron who looked like he would snap, every muscle in his arms and legs was straining against Aswen, I could see them bulging against the material of his shirt and trousers, but he was losing the battle. Verceron slowly slid backwards and Aswen chased him back across the room, the way he had forced her. Verceron's eyes were panicked, darting this way and that, searching, desperate for an escape, a way out. None was forthcoming, the only possible exit was the empty doorframe, but I shifted my position, lifting Legolas in my arms until we were positioned blocking the gap. Legolas had still not stirred and I could feel his ever more erratic pulse under my fingers. I wished Aswen would stop playing with Verceron and get it over with, we had no time to torture the man, much though I may have wished to. Aswen must have sensed my thoughts for her very next strike was the intended take-down, an unstoppable blow that would pierce Verceron through the heart and end his cursed life. Verceron's sword was down, he could not parry, she drove the blade in and there was just time for me to see the look of horror on Verceron's face before he exploded into dust. The fine grey powder settled slowly on the room and I closed my eyes briefly. Foul, unnatural creature though Verceron had been these past centuries, I could still remember the boy he was when I first knew him. That boy had not deserved such a fate. I was disturbed from my thoughts by a soft touch on my arm. I looked up to see the face of Aswen staring intently into mine. "I came as soon as I could. When Osellë came… we all knew the two royals had been absent these past few days, but we never suspected…" her voice trailed off and a single tear tracked down her cheek, creating one smooth clean line in the dust that covered her. I blinked and looked up at her, "Osellë is well?" I asked my whisper booming like a shout in the oppressive silence. Aswen nodded slightly, "The best of our physicians are taking care of her," I gave a curt nod of my own and attempted to rise to myfeet. "Legolas is badly hurt," I told her, though she already knew, judging by the desolate look on her face. "He needs help, now," I dropped to my knees, the energy needed to stand out of my reach. Aswen moved closer anxiously, "You too are not well," she informed me and I rolled my eyes at her for stating the obvious. "Though," she added, a glimpse of the old Aswen I knew flaring in her eyes, "You are looking remarkably well for someone who has been dead these past two hundred years. How-" I cut her off, raising one hand and inclining my head slightly, "Trust me," I whispered, not feeling able to talk any longer, "You really don't want to know." She raised one eyebrow, but nodded slightly and I allowed myself to relax. She would pursue it no further for the moment, which was good as I felt nowhere near up to explaining it to her right then. I leaned my head back against the cool wall, the tension that had built up in me slowly ebbing as the realisation that all the danger of the past few days was over hit me at last. The body under my hand jerked suddenly and I flew bolt upright, panic flooding me, no, he couldn't die now, not when we were finally safe! I leaned forwards, "No, Legolas, no, not now! Meleth-nin, you have to hold on!" I cried into his ear, hoping that somehow he could hear me. Dimly I could hear Aswen calling out in Elvish, her voice as frantic as I felt. But I could not speak, I was trapped in a nightmare of silence, where my mouth moved but no sound seemed tocome out and no one heard me. Elves were rushing around me and taking Legolas into their arms, this I allowed, mainly because I was too numb to do anything else, but I would not relinquish my grip on his hand. I followed the healers to a small chamber nearby and stood at his bedside, unable to move, feeling like I wasn't even breathing. The world had taken on a dream-like quality and it was easy to convince myself that it wasn't real. I would just wake up in my own bed and the nightmare would be over. I was in fact awoken a few seconds later, but it was a different awakening to the one I had hoped. Osellë burst into the room, her fine dress in tatters and streaming out behind her like a magnificent train. She looked every each the Woodland Queen, andLegolas every inch the Woodland King, his pale face enchantingly smudged and his hair ruffled almost into disarray. They fitted together, it was every happy ending in every fairytale I had ever heard of. The King and his Queen, never any mention of an uncomfortable third party in the shadows, watching from a distance. I did not fit in, I did not belong. I was the pea under the mattress, the Beast without any Beauty. I was not a part of this fairytale. I took a step backwards, away from the bed, my mind half made up. Osellë turned, her fawn brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, "What have you done?" her words echoed in my head. I took another step back, tears of my own falling now. What had I done? I released my grip on Legolas' hand, but without warning his eyes flew open and he gripped my hand, not letting me leave. I gave a cry and writhed harder, pulling at his grip, his eyes closed again and he sank down, moaning even in unconsciousness. I wrenched my hand finally from his grasp and fled that room, the stares of its occupants boring into my back, I heard Aswen cry out for me to stop, but I just kept running. I ran and ran, not caring where I was going, as my tears obscured my vision. I reached the eaves of Mirkwood and I dove in, the trees sheltering me from the offensive sight of the palace.

Tree branches moaned in the wind and the shadows cast leapt and danced in the filtered light of the moon. A far distant sobbing could be heard as a maiden tore through the wood, leaving behind a glistening trail of tears on the fallen leaves.

Can't stop, you can't stand to fight her
Won't stop, you can't say the words

Please, please forgive me
But I won't be home again
Maybe someday you'll look up
And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one
Isn't something missing?

You won't cry for my absence, I know
You forgot me long ago
Am I that unimportant
Am I so insignificant
Isn't someone missing me?


Even though I'm the sacrifice
You won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone
Isn't someone missing me?

Evanescence - Missing