Title: Enchain

Author: Pentangle

WARNING: Child abuse. Torture.

Characters: Everybody in the Happy Valley but no Legolas

Estel is sixteen.

Italics: flashbacks

/thoughts/

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Elrond

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He became aware of cold first. He could not see or hear but he felt cold air playing abut his body. Then the strain in his shoulders made itself felt; his wrists were held high above his head although his feet rested on a floor. He shifted his feet a little and heard the soft gritty sound of boot soles on dirty stone. So he could hear and probably see—there was simply nothing much for those senses to work with. Elrond flexed his wrists and the pain in them, which had been simply waiting for him to become aware enough to feel it, made him gasp a little. Chains. But fine—very fine and cutting. They appeared to be wrapped around his wrists many times and when he twisted his body slowly around, there was but an inch or two of slack. Still, it was enough for him to realize he was not against a wall or other barrier but in an open space. As his mind continued to clear he realized he was blind-folded with some soft dense material. He drew a deep, calming breath.

/Elrond, you are far too old for this sort of nonsense. You no doubt have some delightful days ahead of you before you are found and rescued, but you shall be, so calm yourself. You have been through this kind of thing before; one endures and makes up one's mind not to die. Now then, what can you discern about this situation? Item 1: you have been unconscious for at least an hour, probably more. This place does not smell like anywhere in the House, so probably much more. Item 2: you are naked from the waist up and let us not dwell on why that would be preferential from your captor's point of view. Item 3: someone is coming so endeavor not to disgrace yourself/

Soft footfalls came toward him and stopped quite close by. Elrond smelled pitch and smoke; whoever it was carried a torch. A soft whisper began and by the echoes of the sibilance Elrond knew the space that contained him was small, probably no larger than his own study.

"I have waited long for this day, half-elven. I only hope my enthusiasm will not cause me to inadvertently terminate our time together too quickly."

Elrond said nothing. His captor's words made it obvious he had not been stolen away and positioned as he was for a little extra negotiation over a treaty. The way these situations normally went, there was no point in a having a conversation. The whisper gave him no clue to his attacker's identity which was the only information Elrond desperately wanted. The smell of pitch retreated somewhat as whomever it was placed the torch in a bracket on the wall.

The light footfalls gritted on the stone as they returned to within a few feet of the manacled elf lord. Accompanying the footsteps was a dragging sound that also chimed softly, like fine mail when it is lifted from some surface. Then all sound ceased until his captor drew a sudden deep breath, as one does before physical effort.

A sharp whistle was followed by a searing stripe of pain that curled around Elrond's shoulders, his chest, and partway round his waist. /Elbereth! What was that/ He need not have worried about disgracing himself through crying out, for his breath was completely stolen away. Nerves seemed stripped bare and exposed to the air. The pain was fiercely blazing, like nothing he had experienced before.

His assailant waited, knowing Elrond would need to recover before receiving another blow. Too close together and one lost much of the effect. He drew back his hand that held about three feet of a spear shaft to which was attached a long length of fine chain; heavier than jewelry weight but finer than that used for the most costly mail. Each link was the size of a garden pea.

Elrond's paralyzed diaphragm relaxed a little and he drew a gasping breath The whistle sounded again and again stinging fire wrapped itself around him as a lover's arms would curl and caress, save that the only lover that could cause such torment would be a Balrog. Elrond had been flogged on a few memorable occasions but at those times the lash had struck and dropped away. This—whatever the hell it was—curled and clung, having to be drawn forcibly from his body, dealing further pain.

Again the wait for Elrond to draw breath—the sign that he was ready for more.

For the next hour the fire was methodically placed. First shoulders and back, then waist and thighs, then arms and face. Never twice the same. Each time the wait. Sometimes for twenty breaths, occasionally for fifty, or even two hundred, so that the Elrond might have hope that the torment was over. Though his skin was only lightly marked with small beads of blood, his leggings were shredded by the cutting links. Only Elrond's boots could resist their insistent intrusion.

After 20 strokes Elrond began to groan, swearing internally at himself for weakness. The assailant paused and approached so closely Elrond could feel his breath on his cheek. One finger drew itself across the fine welts on the sweating chest and try as he might Elrond could not control a shiver of revulsion. For the second time the whisper spoke. "Do you think you bleed, half-elven? Nay, there is naught but a drop or two. You will not escape from me through death, my dear old friend. We can play this game for days, and so we may. I will tend you, feed you, and let you rest. I too, will need food and rest, for sadly I have never had as much endurance as most elves." He walked all the way around Elrond, enjoying the sight of the network of fiery red lines that crossed and recrossed the body of the ruler of Imladris. He drew a cold finger across more of the welts, feeling the sharply ridged flesh and the heat that radiated from the outraged skin.

"You have company here, although it is not time for you to meet—just yet. I will give you an opportunity to save your companion. I intend the same treatment for him, but will wait to begin on him until you scream, half-elven. I will play fair; I will not count moans nor groans, yips nor yelps. But when you scream…" In its delight the voice approached a normal volume and Elrond listened intently, trying to match it to a known elf. Until, that is, the next words ripped all coherence from his mind. "- when you scream I shall bring the human child to join us and I do not think it will take long for him to scream. Not long at all; children have so little fortitude. But you do not know that so well as I…THIEF!" The sudden shriek startled Elrond but could not deflect the elf lord's mind from the terrifying words concerning his son.

So intense was his fear at his captor's words that he forgot to brace himself for the next stroke. This time the white-hot river curled around his waist twice and Elrond fought for control. He was often criticized for coldness but that was the only thing that would help his son, unless a war party was breaking down the door at that very moment. Possible, but not to be counted upon. He feverishly put together the tidbits he had gained. His tormentor was an elf since as closely as he had approached he would have smelled a man. He spoke as Glorfindel did with that archaic flavor that Elrond had deliberately shed. So he was an elf and very old. They apparently knew each other though Elrond was highly doubtful that they had been friends. The small amount of normal vocal timbre he had heard was tantalizingly familiar. He was so focused on his thoughts that a vicious back-handed blow took him unaware, rocking his head back sharply and splitting his lip.

"You are not paying attention! If you turn your mind from our activities I will be forced to get that animal in here the sooner!"

Elrond spoke for the first time, blood warm and thick on his tongue, "Do not harm my son. The consequences to you do not bear thinking of."

"Yes, yes, 'you will pay' and 'do what you will with me' and so on. We will take all that as read. Are you ready to continue?"

The whistle sounded again and Elrond tensed. The stakes were now a little higher than an elf lord's pride. As his skin once again bloomed with electrifying pain he ground his teeth together. He did not pray for death or anything so melodramatic; a dead father could not save his son.

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In the library of Imladris, Glorfindel, perhaps because he had flavored his tea with a generous tot of liqueur, was the first to regain consciousness. As it had for Elrond, the effects of the drug left him quickly and without much disorientation. Adrenaline cleared the rest of it from his system as he moved about the room, checking pulses and shaking shoulders. Elrohir was the last to return to awareness and like the rest made a quick, devastating count of those remaining.

"Ada and Estel! Where are they!"

Elladan crossed the room and kneeled beside his brother's chair. He took Elrohir's hand and laced their fingers together. "They are gone, Elrohir. He has gotten what he must have wanted all along." Elrohir began to swear, creatively and blackly, but Erestor hushed him.

"We must remain calm if we are to help them." He had walked to the balcony to check the position of the stars. "We have been unconscious for roughly three hours. They are still within our borders but could have been taken as far as twenty miles if he had horses and help. Far less if he is working alone."

Glorfindel looked more closely at the balcony than Erestor had. "It seems to me they must have gone this way. Whoever it was could hardly drag Elrond by the feet through the house or walk out with him over his shoulder, however late it may be." He snatched at a few long dark hairs that fluttered from the balustrade, caught in a tiny imperfection in the wood. "He probably just heaved them over—it is not far to the ground here."

Before he had finished speaking Elladan and Elrohir had swung over and down and begun looking for signs. They found them at once. Elladan shouted up to the two advisors. "He had a cart! One of the kind the gardeners use that have the large wheels. But why? We can track them easily!"

Erestor looked at Glorfindel and said grimly, "It will not be that easy. He is either the luckiest elf alive or we have been incredibly stupid."

Glorfindel's eyes suddenly narrowed. "I am afraid it is the latter! Erestor, who brought our tea?"

"That white-haired shadow…I cannot recall...oh yes, his name is Valendil."

"Who brought you your tray before you were assaulted? Who brought mine?"

"Elbereth!" Erestor's keen intelligence leaped ahead. "We have completely underestimated him. He has brought our late tea many times without incident. He runs errands for Elrond and myself a hundred times a day; he has made himself so omnipresent he seems almost invisible. He has acted coolly and carefully and you are right, finding them will not be easy. But why? Why would he harm those who have taken him in, whom he has never met before?"

"I begin to fear for Elrond exceedingly—he must have a madman's reason for all he has done."

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Estel heard the whistle and screamed since his father did not, though a gag muffled his cries. Before his captor had gone to attend to Elrond, he had carefully explained to Estel the activities that would be going on in the next room. He had demonstrated the lash of chain so that the boy would know the sound when he heard it. Estel struggled and thrashed but he was well bound. The bindings were soft cloth so that he would feel little pain until his captor desired that he should. He was sitting against a stone wall with his hands secured behind him to an iron ring, while his feet were bare and bound tightly together, as were his knees. He snorted in disgust at the elaborate precautions taken against his escape. He had been right; their assailant was Valendil. The frail looking elf was determined that he would not be put in any position where he would have to struggle with one of his victims.

The whistle came again and Estel's entire body shuddered. He had overheard dark tales, told when he was thought a-bed, of men and elves forced to witness the torture of those they loved. He had felt sympathy then, but now he fully understood their anguish. He thought that he could truly not bear his father's torment. He imagined the proud elf's eyes tightly screwed shut against the fiery pain. Valendil had given him one relatively gentle stroke as a demonstration and even through his shirt Estel had felt the fire the chain dealt. As stroke after stroke fell upon his Adar he thought that he would shatter into little pieces, or that he would go mad and be found gibbering and foaming. But of course, neither of those things happened and he simply heard again and again the whistle the chain made before it struck. Estel's throat ached from his screams but he welcomed the pain as if it could ease his father's. It seemed to him obscene that he should be comfortable while his father suffered.

Finally, the sound stopped, though that brought no ease to Estel's mind.

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Elrond's head hung limply and his weight now depended fully from his wrists. The last few strokes had wrung deep, grinding groans from him but he had not screamed. Valendil stepped forward and took a fistful of the elf lord's hair and dragged his face up so that he could watch Elrond's expression closely. "I am tired, half-elven. I will rest now. But first, would you like some water? I am sure you are not inclined to believe me but I will give you a drink if you ask for it."

Elrond yielded for his son's sake. His voice rasped, "I would like some water."

Valendil waited. He did not move about impatiently, or nudge, or prompt. He simply waited. Until, as he had known he would, Elrond gave him his desire.

"Please…please, I beg for water."

Valendil smiled and left the room, returning after some minutes with a crude metal cup. He held it to Elrond's lips and the elf lord drank quickly, afraid the cup would be snatched away. Valendil let him drain it completely. Under the blindfold, Elrond's eyes opened wide. He ran his tongue around his lips. His heart racing, he sought to show no sign of excitement and murmured, "Thank you."

"I told you I would care for you—for a time. As I said, I am tired. I am going to lower the chains enough that you can lie on the floor. Since you are a mighty warrior and a clever leader, you may think to escape. But I think you need no chains at all, for I will sleep in a loving embrace with your son. If I hear one sound from this room I will slide a dagger through his ribs and into his heart. One sound, half-elven. Have you heard me? Do you believe I mean what I say?"

Elrond said with truth, "I do believe you. I will do nothing that will endanger my son."

He heard clanking and the sound of a ratchet clicking even as the pull on his arms suddenly lessened. He slumped down on the floor when he had been given enough slack in the chains. He heard the soft footfalls leave him and a door thudded shut, followed by the sound of a heavy bar being placed across it. He listened long for a tell-tale breath. Nothing. He was alone. His arms quivered and twitched uncontrollably when he tried to raise them. After what seemed like hours the strained muscles again began to obey and with fierce concentration he slowly and carefully brought his hands to his face. His hands were numb and his fingers bent uselessly when he set them against the blindfold. He persevered, and eventually managed to hook his thumbs beneath the edge and slowly inch the soft folds up his face. When the blindfold at last moved toward the crown of his head he wrenched it off and sent it sailing to a corner of the room in a furious gesture of rebellion. That forceful movement made the contraption over his head swing and clang and Elrond froze, his heart banging hard against his ribs. He must be very careful; the elf was mad and might well kill Estel even as he had threatened. He looked around but saw little as the torch was burnt out and the room had no windows. It did not matter; he now knew where he was.

Estel looked up as the white-haired elf entered his cell, for a cell it was, whatever its original purpose. The elf laughed softly at the death that looked at him from the silver eyes. "So, little man, were you armed I would be dead now, would I not?" He came close to Estel and squatted beside him. "I know well that look, pen neth, but do not wear out your soul with looking, for I looked so at him…yet he lived. And gave my body to pain." He stood again and said briskly, "I would like to feed you and then obtain a little rest. If I remove the gag will you keep silent?"

Estel nodded. Valendil cut the gag with his dagger, showing care for the cheeks of his charge. He left and returned with a cup of water as he had done for Elrond. Estel drank swiftly and watched Valendil narrowly. He moved his swollen tongue about in the cold water in his mouth and worked his stiff lips to loosen them. When the elf stood again and had gone a few paces away he drew a deep, deep breath and shouted, "ADA! I AM HERE AND I AM WELL!"

Valendil spun around but exacted no painful retribution. "He already knows you are here and now he knows that you are alive. That will cool his ardor for escape better than anything I could possibly do." He left again but quickly returned with food. He fed the boy clumsily on bits of bread and cheese and Estel ate every crumb that was offered. He heard Glorfindel's lecturing voice in his mind. /The more desperate the situation the more you must take advantage of any little thing in your favor. That often means bending your neck and yielding when you would rather spit in someone's face./

Then Valendil sat down on the floor next to Estel and snuggled up next to him. He worked an arm behind the boy and, true to his word to Elrond, embraced the edan about the waist and pulled him close. Estel stiffened and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. The last year or so he and Elrond had had a few discussions on a new topic that had made both of them very uncomfortable. Estel was now terrified that his father had left out some important information. He started shaking but Valendil patted his arm and said seriously, "His tastes did not run in that direction, so you are safe from me in that regard. I will do nothing to you that was not done to me." He paused then added very softly, "I was the age you seem to be now, though I do not know the years of men. Be grateful you are mortal for your nightmares will have an end." The hand that gently patted now moved to grasp the dagger and incredibly, Valendil slept, holding Estel tightly with one hand and his dagger with the other. Estel nearly lost his meager supper as his skin crawled at being in such close contact with his father's torturer. The macabre situation took on yet another dimension as the elf, snoring gently, rubbed his cheek against Estel's shoulder like a little elfling.

Estel assembled and reassembled all the words Valendil had spoken. He began to glimpse a horrible picture, one undreamt of by a boy who had slept soundly and safely in Imladris, surrounded by love and kindness. In spite of his rage and fear he felt a tiny tug of sympathy for an elf so warped and scarred by life that he sought comfort from the son of his enemy. But why was Elrond his enemy? For Estel knew that there was no possible way his father, however stern he might be at times or cold with those not invited into his heart, could be the 'he' that had hurt Valendil. So why? There was no possibility that he would sleep while in Valendil's hold, so he pondered on through the night.

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End Chapter 4