Disclaimer: I don't own the elves. I own Hithwen and all other original characters. But I don't think anyone wants to take those from me. I think they would kill most anyone while they slept.
A/N: I know it's been a while. I know this is shorter than usual. I am sorry. But I kind of like this chapter. It's the start of a whole lot of Elladan angst, at any rate. The next chapter should be up sooner, as I have all the concepts down. My goal is to have the next chapter before With Teeth (New Nine Inch Nails! New Nine Inch Nails!) is released. Oh yes, one more thing. Everyone has read the first part of this series (Of Blackest Hate), right? I just want to fend off all confusion and protect you... By the way, Michelle (my beta) is sick right now, so she may miss a few things.
Andromida-197- Here is more. Thank you! It is fun to separate them...:evil grin: It wasn't soon...I am sorry though! I'll try to do better!
Hyperactive Forever- Well, you should hate me for being evil! I am glad you liked it. He really does need to eat...Stubborn git. We could have a rock-throwing party! I think they used to call those stonings...
Empath89- :hands you a mini-choco-elf: Eat! Partake of the food of the gods! Yes, poor, poor Elrohir. Whatever did he do to deserve my evil?
LilPippin- Yes, they were force feeding him. Because he was starving himself. Well, you shall see what happens to the twins yourself. I couldn't spoil anything, could I?
Delano- Sorry...that was not a speedy update, but here it is all the same.
Curious One- I am glad that you like it, and flattered that you find it original. Well, Elrond wouldn't just let him starve would he:evil grin:
katquest2000- I'm sorry! I left you guys hanging in midair...
Riniel Remethiel- That is oh-so-flattering. I am so glad you enjoy it. Well, you will see for yourself how this ends. I spoil nothing. Do believe that I can live through any wrath I might face. I mean...I am...me (an acronym for malicious and evil). A beta is someone who edits the story for grammar, spelling, and typos. In response to your review for chapter one, I do not, and never truly have written slash for LotR. Lord of the Rings is where I resolve my non-romantic angst.
Chapter 3 - Lesson of the Day:
If I hadn't just seen the deep wounds on my wrists, made to let my life's blood seep out of me, close to keep what's left of it in; I would never have believed such a thing possible. But it happened here, where I still lie–in the very place I collapsed into a growing puddle of my own blood, what seems like hours ago.
My head is spinning. The room is spinning. Blood loss. Nothing I haven't experienced before, but nothing you can ever get used to either. I would like to run a finger along each of the new and faint scars on my wrists, formed and faded by the whisper and caress of The Emerald Lady, but I am sure I cannot muster the strength. What little power I still command must be put to work reenforcing the defenses of my mind. I must prepare. Pain lies ahead. But I must preserve my free will. It's the only thing I've never had to let go.
Elladan lay sprawled in the crimson puddle of his own blood, Hithwen hovering over him like a mother hen hovers over her newly hatched chicks. Well, a deranged mother hen. She vocalized her madness, her voice the usual commanding murmur, "May I once again note, how red becomes you," she paused, running her hand down his tunic, "I can see it now...running down your ivory chest, and your legs, and your arms... Oh yes! The red becomes you!"
The peredhel moaned in response, unable to force the sarcastic words he so desperately wanted to say to the surface, too weak from the recent loss of blood.
She beamed at him and quickly sliced through the ropes on his wrists. The madwoman then gently began to undo the belt that was clinched around his waist, holding his tunic in place, "I could never make you stop wearing red... Perhaps we could avoid forcing you into emerald...though you would look lovely in that, too..." She forced his torso off the stone floor as she pulled off the raven-haired half-elf's crimson tunic, and his head hit the ground with a soft thud. Elladan let out another moan.
She was like a careless child playing with her doll, and he was too powerless to protest.
Bony yet nimble fingers flew to the laces of dark leggings, and the subject that held The Lady's attention raised his head in an attempt to offer some resistance, but Hithwen forced him back down with a, "Shush! This is what you need! You shall be transformed. Stronger. Braver. Better than ever before. There's just a little pain is all..."
The insane female pulled off his boots, and they were followed by the now-undone leggings.
"There!" the Maia exclaimed with almost childlike glee, "Alone, naked, vulnerable. Nothing between you and me but time and space," she paused; noting the living, unextinquished fire in his eyes. "But still a warrior. A warrior even without hope."
Bony fingers snapped around one of his wrists, and the fragile-seeming woman dragged Elladan across the icy floor. The rough stone scraped pale and tender skin as the peredhel struggled to keep track of his whereabouts. He had to remain of at least that much if he wanted a chance at escape.
Hithwen passed through a door way, carelessly and violently bashing her captive's shoulder against its stony frame. Elladan sensed the beginning of a new bruise.
He couldn't understand her power. This bony woman–sickly and frail by all appearances–but so strong. She could fight for herself, but never did. She controlled others. The puppet master, he thought regretfully.
Cursing himself for the momentary distraction, Elladan examined the new chamber.
"Ai Valar," the peredhel managed to mutter under his breath as he fully took in the ornamental weapon displays, suspensions, whips, chains, and other assorted devices that now surrounded him.
Elladan felt his elbow bump against a metal loop that was bolted to the floor. It was one of many. The floor was strewn with hooks and loops of iron meant to work with chains and manacles. The Lady seemed fond of her variety–her victims could suffer anywhere in the room.
The raven-haired half-elf noted Hithwen's childlike glee as she scanned the walls for a fitting restraint. After a few minutes the mad Maia finally settled on a pair of leather loops, which she slipped onto the wrists of her soon-to-be victim and subsequently tightened.
Elladan was left dangling against the wall, knees slightly and uncomfortably bent, and feet dragging on the ground. Silver eyes darted to his captor.
Hithwen smiled girlishly as she played with a ruby-studded mirthil dagger–the peredhel quickly noted that it was not the same one that had been used to slit his wrists–it somehow seemed crueler.
She tested the sharpness of the blade against the bone white crevice between her thumb and forefinger. The Maia watched the crimson blood drip toward her wrist for a moment, and then lapped at the sticky fluid with an eager tongue, "I am certain yours shall be sweeter," the madwoman grinned, savoring the metallic taste of her own blood as she approached Elladan, "there is something about goodness that enriches the taste."
Here emerald eyes carefully scanned her prisoner's fair skin for the location of her first cut, "Such a shame I am not the first to mark you," she placed the tip of the dagger above his nipple, "battle wounds long healed," she murmured as she slowly dragged the knife across a small distance to create a shallow yet painful cut.
"How many of them did you suffer defending your comrades...Your brother?" soft voice, cruel smile, sharp knife carefully trailing across his collar bones.
"Unnecessary, if you ask me," the woman carefully scratched a bloody scar into the smooth skin of his upper arm.
"Someone like you should never take someone else's blows," a cruel smile played across her features, "Yes, that shall be our lesson of the day," she drew the blood-tinged knife across his ribs, "Never, never, take someone else's pain."