Hey everybody!

Yea, yea, I know what you're thinking... NO, NOT THAT! LoL, yes, she finally updated! Would you like to hear my sob story? Too bad, you get to anyway: I was dragged to a family cabin over the weekend, totally devoid of phones, computers, and overall ELECTRICITY! LoL, so, as you can see, I've been kind of prevented from finishing the chapter. But here it finally is!

Just a little F.Y.I., my posting schedule will probably be a little off for the rest of the story, considering that I have tons of homework and a full schedule. I'm trying out for the school play: Godspell! Wish me luck! Anyway, I'll try to update on a generally weekly basis, but if the chapter doesn't show up by Sunday night, please don't kill me ducks flying tomatoes.

Ok, enough of my babbling. Bon voyage, worthy readers!! ;-)

Chapter Seven: Shattered Glass

Don't tell me what to think,

'Cause I don't care this time.

Don't tell me what to believe,

'Cause you won't be there.

Don't tell me how life is,

'Cause I don't really want to know.

Don't tell me how this game ends,

'Cause we'll just see how it goes.

"Faster, you filth!" growled Zughtuk, tugging harshly on the rope around Estel's wrists. Estel hissed in pain as the ropes re-opened partially healed wounds, and began to stain once again with his blood. The young man glared at the orc captain behind his closed eyelids, resolving to considerably shorten this one's life once he had gotten out of this retched place.

Estel opened his eyes once more and looked slowly around him as he half-jogged to keep up with his captor. He was no longer in the dungeons, where Zughtuk had taken him from his cell moments earlier. Instead, he was in a brightly lit hallway, with bright white-marble floors covered by even more extravagant burgundy rugs. The ceiling hung at least twenty feet over Estel's bowed head, and more than five men could possibly walk abreast in the wide and empty hall. This must be his personal palace, thought Estel with intense loathing for the man called Vilgar. The colorful passageways were a far cry from dark and dank dungeons below.

Zughtuk stopped suddenly at a small door at the end of the hallway, and Estel almost ran headlong into the disgruntled orc. Knocking harshly on the door, the pair waited for entry to be granted to them. The door cracked open barely an inch, revealing a crystal blue eye surrounded by pale white skin. After scrutinizing the orc and man, she opened the door wider for them to enter. Zughtuk yanked on the roped tied to Estel once more, pulling the young human off his feet and landing him face first on the cold, marble floor.

The blue-eye's owner glared mercilessly at the orc captain, who merely laughed at her and strode over to the room's only chair, watching and waiting for something that Estel knew not. The blue-eyed figure sighed almost imperceptibly, and then turned to the fallen figure of Estel. Estel's shame did not allow him to look up at her, but she didn't seem to mind. Gently, she removed the cruel ropes that bound his hands, tossing them to the side in disgust. Then, she spoke softly to Estel, so that the orc behind them could not hear.

"U-ado chin din. Sedho men beriar aen. Do not attract their attention. Be calm, we are safe," she whispered soothingly as she saw the tremors that ran up and down Estel's spine. She looked upon him with deep sympathy, but she did not have time to comfort him further. Zughtuk had heard her words, and glared at her with intense loathing in his eyes. He jumped up quickly and savagely backhanded her. A streak of bright crimson blood appeared on her fair white cheek.

"Quit your elf-talk and hurry up, scum. The master is waiting," he snarled dangerously at the she-elf. The elf cast her eyes down, though unseen went the fiery anger at the injustice of the horrible place. She resumed her task of caring for the dark-haired being, wondering slightly at the bloody bandage around his ears. She went to remove it, but as a result was once again backhanded by the vicious captain. A second red streak painted her face. "Don't touch that," commanded Zughtuk, returning once again to the wooden chair on the opposite side of the room.

"If you speak to him again, it's the goroth for him," Zughtuk added, smiling to himself at the spark of horror that crossed the she-elf's face, only to once again be submerged under a mask of unconcern.

Zughtuk watched as she returned to her task of cleaning the young man. Elves. Supposedly the wisest of Illuvatar's children, both immortal and possessing strange gifts that belonged only to the race of the eldar, they repeatedly appeased the dwellers of Arda with their disgusting nobility and unstoppable bravery. Did they ever learn? While they seemed to have no concern for their own well being when in came to the protection of their damned pride and values, the seemingly unshakable beings would do anything when the life of another was threatened. Yes, anything.

The orc captain smiled sinisterly to himself. The slaves had discovered the torment of witnessing the pain of others many, many times over. But he looked once more at the young human that sat hunched over on the floor of the kitchen. Would this filthy thing bow to the same horror that could sway the elves, or would he have to devise a more sinister way to make this young one obey?

Yes, he chuckled to himself, this is a challenge I'll enjoy immensely.

o-o-o

Estel sagged against the stone wall behind him as he tried to stay standing. The kind she-elf had cared for him gently, cleaning the dirt from him and dressing him in white servant's robe. His head was still bandaged with a bloodstained cloth, but that couldn't be helped. The orc had become very miffed when his caretaker had tried to remove it. His ears itched furiously from being wrapped in a soiled bandage, and the smell of sweat and blood was making the young human nauseous. He cocked his head to the side, attempting vainly to rub his irritated ears on his shoulder, but succeeded only in sloshing red wine on his clean linen robe. He winced. Vilgar defiantly wouldn't like that very much.

He wore no chains now, and the thought of escape had crossed his mind more than once, but if he had been able to maneuver the winding halls regardless of the pain in his back and head, guards were posted at every exit, each carrying with them a sparkling dagger and a spiked whip. Estel highly doubted that he would be able to evade the six soldiers posted at the door to his left, and the passage to his right was locked. Escape was not an option.

Estel sighed, gazing into the deep red pools of the liquid that he carried in a medium-sized glass pitcher. He could barely hold the lavish container without sloshing the precious wine over the sides, but he hardly cared. His thoughts slowly drifted from the cold, stone halls of the Misty Mountains back to the warm, welcoming halls of Imladris. He closed his eyes and turned his face upward, imagining a gentle breeze that caressed his face as he lay in the soft, green grass that bordered the riverbank. He could almost hear the jovial laughter of elvish voices in the background.

His home.

He laughed to himself silently. Merely a month or so ago (he couldn't be sure, as he had lost all track of time completely), he had been worried about making it to the Yen celebration in time to see the traditional drunken twins and their fanatics. Now, however, he lay rotting in the most forgotten corner of the world, serving pungent wine to a conceited lord who found it amusing to enslave elves and force them to serve his every whim. He felt as if he could punch a hole right through the wall with the force of his anger, and he would have, too, if he had not been hampered by the burden of the pitcher. Instead, he contented himself with the activity of attempting to bore a hole in the floor with his eyes, channeling his fear, anxiety, disgust, and deep longing for revenge through two silver-rimmed pupils.

He was interrupted from his thoughts as he heard a commotion right outside the locked door to his right. He looked up; standing up in the proper posture that Zughtuk had been so strict about. He cocked his head slightly, concentrating on the noises that ventured ever so much nearer with each passing second. The noise of stomping feet and clinking metal became louder and louder, until Estel could faintly make out the sound of a key sliding into a lock. The door slowly opened, revealing a strange array of beings.

Vilgar, of coarse, had been the first to enter. He was dressed more royally than the captured man had seen him before, with a flowing red robe tied over his shoulders and a silver circlet adorned with an emerald as big as Estel's thumb on his head. He was the perfect picture of a man who couldn't help but flaunt his vast horde of riches, and he seemed unabashed by that fact. He was followed by several men that Estel couldn't remember seeing before, but he guessed that they too lived in the mansion.

The two that strode behind Vilgar and the few men were puzzlingly similar, yet opposite all at the same time. The first wore a great, golden turban upon his head, and looked to be a nobleman of great power. He walked with a long, graceful gait, and the long hems of his robes gave the illusion that the young lord floated over the surface of the floor. His face, however betrayed his youth, though the young lord seemed unperturbed by the age difference between him and his host.

Behind him, connected to the turbaned lord in front of him by a long piece of rope, was a sight that severely shocked Estel's very being. A blonde, beaten, and dirtied elf came with his head hung low, struggling to keep up with his captors. Estel's heart burned within him. He knew, of coarse, that Vilgar had kept elven slaves within these halls, but the actual sight of an elven prisoner was much more effective than mere knowledge. He gripped the handle of the glass pitcher tightly, gritting his teeth at the abominable sight.

Vilgar didn't notice the odd behavior from his new slave, however. He had much more important matters to attend to.

"Please, Lord Bakadal, sit, sit! The food will come to us," beckoned Vilgar, seating himself at the head of the table. He watched, smiling slyly, as the turbaned figure- Lord Bakadal- gingerly seated himself on Vilgar's right hand side. The imprisoned elf remained standing. Lord Bakadal glanced quickly around the room, his eyes landing on Estel for half a moment, and then turned back to his host. Vilgar was whispering something hurriedly into a guard's ear, who promptly trotted off to complete the task that his master had given him. Bakadal waited politely until Vilgar had finished.

"My Lord, your halls are quite…astounding," he mused, and Estel noted that the words seemed slightly forced, "However, I must inquire upon the condition in which your…erm…possessions are kept. I will not negotiate a trade over a useless elf." Vilgar only smiled at this comment.

"Ah, I see you've discovered my newest addition," he said, gesturing with his hands that he wanted Estel to come over. Estel briefly considered ignoring the pompous slave driver out of pure spite, but did not wish to garner any more trouble…for himself or others. He took a few steps toward Vilgar, stopping just out of arm's reach of either lord.

"Yes, he's a rare one, isn't he? The only dark-haired one I've ever come across. Quite stubborn too…but breakable, oh yes, that is most certain."

Bakadal frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he scrutinized the so-called 'new addition'. He'd never seen a wood elf with dark hair before that was for sure. In fact, the last dark-haired elf he had seen had been much farther north, and many, many years before. He turned back to Vilgar, posing his next inquiry.

"Well, I am quite curious as to what happened to his head. He hasn't been permanently damaged, I hope?" questioned the turbaned lord. Vilgar laughed, shaking his head.

"No, no, except for perhaps a few lost memories and, no doubt, intelligence, he's perfectly fine. It's a result of his capture, I'm afraid. Elves require a firm hand in the beginning, but after you've broken them…" he let his sentence trail off cryptically, "Ah, but now is not the time for such talk. Dinner has arrived!"

And so it had. Dozens of human servants filed in, carrying with them a plump, juicy looking turkey that made the pit of Estel's stomach growl. Apples, nuts, fresh bread, sweet mashed potatoes, blueberry pie, the list went on and on. As more servants filed in, the area of space on the table grew smaller and smaller, until the last dish of lemon pudding had to be held rather than placed on the table. Estel looked longingly at the food, remembering dismally what his last meal had consisted of: raw intestine.

Estel jerked when he heard the sharp snap of a finger right next to his ear. He turned, only to see Vilgar snapping at him impatiently, looking commandingly from the pitcher in Estel's hands to the golden goblet in front of him, clearly wanting the wine to be poured. Lord Bakadal waited with baited breath; knew, he did, the stubbornness of elves, especially when forced to do something against their will. He watched as the beaten looking slave bit his lower lip with determination…

…and took a step back.

Lord Vilgar's eyes widened, glaring both shocked and angrily at his disobedient slave. He stared into Estel's eyes for what seemed like forever, having a silent battle of wills.

"Come," he commanded in a deep, authoritative voice. Another moment passed…

…and Estel took yet another step back.

Furious, Vilgar stood so quickly that his chair tipped over backwards. Bakadal jumped, and secretly shared a nervous glance with the blonde elf behind him. They turned once again to the confrontation, and noted that Vilgar was now standing merely feet from Estel, towering over the young slave, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Pour the wine, NOW," Vilgar said once more, somehow managing to keep the level of his voice safely out of shouting range, though his red face told a different story. Estel looked Vilgar defiantly in the eye, standing up as straight as his injured body would let him.

The last thing he remembered doing before the world went black was dropping the full pitcher to the floor.

Did ya'll like the chapter? Please say yes! Don't worry, Estel's not dead, just is going to have a severe headache when he wakes up grins evilly.

I'd like to, for once, thank my reviewers!!

Jaquelinestel: Awww, you like my fluff? You rock! LoL, well, I actually passed my exams with flying colors, even though I didn't study very much blushes. Must have been the luck you gave me... ;-)

Grumpy: He he he, Legolas and Feoling are definately in for much more than they've bargained for. Thanks so much for reviewing!

Cosmic Castaway: Glad I've got your attention! Well, here you go, hope you liked it. Thanks again!

Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed.

I'm gonna leave you guys on a little cliffhanger for a while. The next chapter probably won't be about Estel, but it'll have action, I promise.

Don't forget to review!!

Hasta luego,

CzechChicka