Reviews:
Twinsboy13: Thank you! I'm happy you like this one! I see you got up your story! HAPPY NEW YEAR! Read what Greg wanted Ruscion to do (its in hideho's review answer) Lol
Hideho: Wow! I didn't expect to hear from you! Did you have a good Christmas? Greg had some funny ideas for this story, he wanted Ruscion to choke on a pingpong ball and die. LOL! interesting huh?
Hearts Corruption: Oh joy!! I'm so glad you liked it! Let's see if you'll like the plot… ;-)
ALT( ): No, come on… tell me what you really think! :-( I do understand already that I am not the best writer here. I am just disappointed that I did not rise to your expectations. At least now I can get better…sigh… AND Legolas's father is a very busy man, but he gets along well with his son. Just because he can't see him often doesn't mean Thranduil doesn't love him.
Author's Note: Hi! I uploaded another chapter!!! Yay! Thank you reviewers! Even the ones that killed my last chapter… Hope you will enjoy!! Let's get on with the horr-... I mean Tourt-.... No no, I ment to say uhh.... Happiness! NOT!
Italics are thoughts
Adar means (in Sidarian) Father.
Ion-nin means (in Sidarian) my son.
Daro means stop.
Saes maens please.
--------------------20 some years later----------------
"No! Daro, daro! Saes!" His cries would do nothing but echo throughout the narrow corridors. Bouncing off the dirty stone walls and making the beautifuly sad pleas sound like long moans.
"Stop yelling that rubbish! You'll get no mercy from us!" With that, a broad-shouldered man took his item of choice out of the fire. The long lean poker, its tip gleaming crimson, cast odd shadows upon Ruscion's paling face. Sweat started to bead between his shoulder blades and slid slowly down his boney back. They won't stop this time. I've gone too far. And it's all my fault. If's would do him no good now, and apoligizing to the enemy? Ha! They would never listen for none of them care.
"Gettin' scared, are ya?" He laughed at the small whimpers and futile attempts to break free of the chains that bound the young elf to the gray stone cell wall. He waved the poker right in front of Ruscion's perfectly shaped, thin, nose. The captain immensely enjoyed the fear radiating out from the elf. It was my own fault, and now I will be punished. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The captain's yellowing teeth appeared under chapped lips, he was goiong to enjoy every second of this. To break an elf was hard work, but when it happened it was like letting water out of a dam. The creature's soul would pour out, it's screams never ending.
"You deserve every minute of this! You need to learn your place; you're just a little maggot here! Am I right?" to the many jeers of the small group that had gathered to watch. He firmly gripped the burning poker and brought it down upon the young elf's slender hands, the hands that would grasp the bow and sword, the hands that could have made his adar proud. They now seared with pain, making him cry out in a short sharp gasp. The smell of burnt skin filled the small cell and wafted out into the winding corridors, making him feel like he would empty what little food was in his stomach.
His usually mischievous ebony eyes were screwed up in agony . Tears fell and landed on the many blackening bruises that covered his bony figure. Dirty flaxen chin length hair fell in front of his face, hiding what little tears remained of those he had already shed. In a different situation Ruscion would have been disgusted to have shown weakness, but now he only wanted the pain to cease. The only thought that he held onto for dear life was ' Adar will save me.' But he knew it would not be so; he had been waiting for thirty odd years. Nobody would ever release him from this foul prison.
The burns now ran up Ruscion's arms and shoulders. The thin shirt had not given him protection against the poker. He wished desperately for the bliss of unconsciousness. Sick-minded fiends dared to sneer in the face of the young elf, laughing at his pain like it was a game. Revenge would feel so sweet when it came time. But now he was just waiting for it to all end; he wasn't ready to feel the pain that was soon to come.
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Hollow steps echoed through the long, seemingly never ending hallway. His cerulean eyes were empty of any emotion, and absentmindedly followed the pattern of forest green tiles upon the floor. Long fingers played with the thin slender trinket in his tan trouser pocket. His feet had carried him to the intricately carved mahogany door which he silently opened and entered.
Legolas could feel the room's memories erupting from every corner, flooding to him. Now he wished he hadn't come. This room had been his son's not long ago, for an elf at lest. Everything was just as it had been, even the olive colored tunic with the hole in the sleeve hadn't moved from it's place, absent mindedly tossed on the small firm bed. The only new objects in the room were dust, and a deep empty feeling that hadn't been there while Ruscion was alive. Dust covered everything, the many folklore books on the shelves lining the walls, the small chest that had been opened in haste many years ago, and the intricately carved bow he had once used before...
No use dwelling on the past. Things come and go with the time; you of all elves should know that. Fleetingly he took out the small object and placed it lovingly in the wooden chest. The item was a thin dagger no bigger than Legolas's hand span, with a charred bone handle. The blade its self hadn't been damaged and still gleamed in the sunlight that streamed into the bedroom. There was no doubt that this dagger wasn't his son's; the symbols of leaves and foxes intertwined on the blade were also on many of his most treasured possessions.
Nothing more can be done. Latching the chest shut, a lone tear slid down his tired face.
That's all! Did ya like it?? hate it ? too sadistic? I would like to know... If you don't like don't read. I have know Idea when I will update soooo, check back sometime late feb. marchish. Bye! :-)