Chapter 15

WARNING FOR VIOLENCE AND IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENT

Startled eyes flashed open just in time to see the great maw yawn wide, smell the rancid breath as it brushed across his face and instinct moved his body without thought. There was a flash of steel as he twisted away bringing an agonised shriek and a deluge of black ichor. Continuing his momentum the elf turned full circle, bringing the blade back around to slash once more at the already weakend creature, severing it's tenuous hold on life and it fell, twitching, to the forest floor with a sickly squelch. Scanning his surroundings he spotted two more of the great spiders approaching from either side in an attempt to snare him between them and he wondered briefly how they had managed to get so close without him noticing, before thoughts were swept aside in the battle to survive.

They kept on coming and his blades flashed in continuous movement feeling as light as feathers in his hands. As soon as he dispatched one it seemed another two took its place and the elf was beginning to wonder if the whole spider population of the forest had come to claim him. Covered in ichor and blood from the myriad small nicks and scratches he had acquired all the elf could do was keep going, he had lost count of how many of the repulsive bodies now lay lifeless under the trees yet still they came.

Smiling as he spun, twisted and twirled, instinct driving him on he felt the now familiar tingling through his body as the excitement of battle built. Embracing the feeling he allowed it to carry him along as one after another of the creatures met their doom by the edge of his knives. This was what he was meant for, what he lived for and as he attacked the last of the spiders in a gory frenzy, hacking off limbs and chopping at bodies he felt the tension within build to almost unbearable heights, before succumbing to ecstasy as the final beast was felled and he collapsed, shaking and sated into dreamless oblivion.

~o~

Running through the canopy, springing from tree to tree, a nagging thought pushed at his mind but catching sight of his prey below him, he swept it aside to deal with later. The pack of orcs he was following appeared oblivious yet to his presence and he wanted to concentrate his attention upon keeping it that way for a while longer.

Picking up his pace, the elf hurtled through the trees to pass the creatures, ensuring he could gain the advantage of surprise when eventually he attacked. Once far enough in front, he stopped to ready himself. Choosing his position carefully upon a sturdy branch he nocked an arrow, then waited whilst the tramp of heavy feet grew closer and closer, fighting to quell the excitement he felt rising, causing his heartbeat and breathing to quicken.

There! The first orc came into his sights and never saw the arrow that lodged itself deep within the thickened skin of its throat. Without thought, more arrows flew as the elf's instinct took over, calming both mind and body in the flow and thrum of wood and string. Four more of the creatures fell in rapid succession before the others realised what had happened and a loud, gutteral voice rang out, warning them to take cover.

A flurry of lesser arrows then was loosed up to the spot where the elf had been standing but it was too late, he had already moved on, swinging from the canopy to land silently on the forest floor behind a pair of orcish archers so intent upon firing up to his previous position, that the first they knew of his presence was the short, sharp pain of head leaving body as twin blades flashed in tandem. Turning to leap back up into the trees before the bodies had hit the ground the elf re-sheathed his knives, fitted an arrow to his bow and fired all in one fluid motion and another orc fell without a sound. Picking off the creatures as they stumbled about below him, he continued to shoot until the last of his arrows was spent then smiled to himself in anticipation. Now came the best part.

Unsheathing his deadly knives he spun them within his hands, reveling in their perfect balance as he chose his spot with care. He leapt, falling gracefully to the ground in a flurry of limbs and sharp edges, landing in the midst of the group and the real battle began. Twisting and turning, his knives flashing in a blur of movement he dealt out death and destruction with ease. He felt the swell of laughter bubbling up within his throat and opened his mouth to give it voice. The ground grew slippery beneath his feet with black orcish blood but still his feet flew, seeming to skim over the morass with the barest of touches. One after the other the creatures fell, yet always it seemed there were more to take their place. He fought as if possessed, his laughter ringing louder through the trees with each kill, his body thrumming at each spurt of fresh gore.

Sharp pain flared across his back causing him to gasp at the accompanying jolt of pleasure that surged through him as instinct turned him in time to deflect the next blow from a wickedly curved scimitar and decapitate its wielder. He panted briefly at the sensation before flinging himself back into the seemingly, never ending fight, barely dodging a slice aimed across his middle, feeling his excitement surge again as he stabbed the offending orc through the throat and felt the warm spurt of black blood splatter his face.

Pain and pleasure began to intermingle as the fight continued and his body continued to respond to the nicks and cuts he was now receiving, as well as the damage he was dolling out. A brief warning flittered across his mind but he had no time to think as the orcs kept up their attack and thought was lost within the continual dance for survival. Another burst of pain across his back caused his body to convulse with need and a feral howl left him as he eviscerated the orc responsible and greedily watched its innards spill out in a glistening string. Caught up within the sensations that were fast overwhelming him now, he slashed and stabbed maniacally, all grace and elegance lost in his need for completion. He barely noticed the creatures before him, only the blood as it flew through the air, painting him and all around with its thick black substance. Panting now his blades flew faster and faster until with a final swing he decapitated his final opponent and howled his release into the air.

It wasn't until he had collapsed to his knees, drained and spent and his vision had cleared that he noticed the body laying before him on the ground did not belong to an orc. Staring in confusion he took in the slight form dressed in brown woollen tunic and breeches, a short sword lying close to where it had been dropped by an outstretched grimy hand. His clouded mind struggled to make sense of what he saw. A man. Fighting with orcs? It made no sense, had never known it before. Looking over to where the head lay, tilted up with open eyes, he gasped. He had seen that face before. An image crossed his mind of his blade, pressed up close to a pale throat. A youth with wide eyes and large ears staring up at him in terror. His mind reeled in turmoil. What did this mean? He slumped forwards onto his hands and knees, trying to understand, trying to think but it was becoming hard to get his thoughts together. The world began to revolve around him and eventually he gave up, closed his eyes and let go, spinning into a dark void.

~o~

He was slowing, his whole body ached and felt leaden. Pure instinct alone drove him now, there was no thought except survival and even that was beginning to feel impossible. He had been fighting for so long he could hardly remember how it had started. The attack had seemed to come from nowhere, without warning and his patrol had been caught completely unawares. Now he was on his own, having become separated from the others in the fight and all he could do was hope they had escaped with their lives. Another blade flashed before him, its steel glinting in the sunlight as he parried its swing with a sword that felt strange to his hand. He tried to think, to work out where he was in reference to his fathers halls but the constant onslaught kept his mind too occupied with purely keeping him alive. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his back, between his shoulder blades and pitched forwards, stumbling to save himself from falling face down on the blood soaked ground. Another sharp pain, this time in his left shoulder spun him around and he fell to his knees. Using his sword as a staff he tried to pull himself up to his feet but his strength was waning and his head swam alarmingly. He heard a soft twang, his body jerked backwards and he looked down to see the shaft of an arrow embedded within his chest. His mind wondered briefly why there was no pain but the world blurred into grey and he could no longer focus mind nor eyes. A shadow then fell over him and he looked up into a face, etched with hatred and fear, staring at him along the length of a drawn arrow. The face was vaguely familiar and as his desperate mind searched for answers he could not find, the youth with the big ears let fly the arrow and the light of the world went out.

~o~

Staring down upon the naked, sprawled figure now lying gasping for breath on the pallet before him the witch king smiled inwardly. How glorious the elf had appeared a few moments before as he thrashed and bucked, held within the dual thrall of the herbal concoction poured into his open wounds and the projected images from his own mind. It had been so delicious, probing his mind, tweaking the images and watching the effects. That there were still some mental barriers in place was of no consequence, the isolation, starvation and physical abuse in combination with the herbs and mental manipulations would eventually allow him access to more than just a few recent memories and from then, it would not take long to make him completely theirs.

He reached out a hand, longing to run it over the beautiful body but dare not touch just yet. It would not be too long before the effect of the herbs wore off and he dare not precipitate that moment, could not be present when the elf awoke. He inhaled deeply, taking in once more the sweet scents of blood, combined with the heady perfume of the elf's explosive release and shivered, the intoxicating sight and sound of the creature at the peak of his excitement indelibly imprinted upon his mind.

Raking the enticing figure with one last, lingering look he reluctantly turned to leave, reminding himself that this was only the beginning, there would be so many more moments like this to enjoy along the way to the culmination of the plan, when he could finally claim his prize. Moving away, his armoured feet echoing upon the stone floor, he began planning his next moves. First he would need to report this initial encouraging beginning to the master but after that he would take a little time to attend to his own needs. Orcs were, after all, useful for so many things.

~o~

The elf awoke in the dark, panting heavily, his heart beating wildly in his chest, the faint echo of a sound running through his ears. The scent of blood, sweat and musk lay heavy on the air and his head swam with wild images he could not control. Confusion washed over him and he struggled into a sitting position, letting out an involuntary groan as his back complained loudly at the change of position and pain lanced through his body. Gazing around, trying desperately to pierce the dark he finally managed to bring his racing pulse and ragged breathing under control. The only sound now, that of water, dripping somewhere in the distance, bringing with it the memory of his plight.

Shaking off the images in his mind he concentrated on the sound for a moment, it was almost soothing in its familiarity. He turned his head towards the sound and winced at the sharp pull of pain across the back of his neck. Bringing one hand up to explore the area he felt the split skin, thick liquid upon his fingers. Bringing his hand back to his nose and sniffing gently he smelt the iron tang of blood, coupled with a faint herbal scent he did not recognise. Wounded. He had been wounded. An image flashed through his mind of a scimitar raised and waiting to fall but before he could pin it down it evaporated away like smoke. Had that been at his capture? For that is what he was surely. Captive.

His fingers then began to explore his body, carefully feeling their way down his apparently unharmed chest to his flat stomach, stopping at the feel of the thick sticky fluid which appeared to be smeared well over it. Probing gently he could discover no trace of injury and was perplexed until he raised his fingers once more to his nose and was shocked to find, they did not smell of blood as expected, but of his own unique essence and a memory of lust and battle burst across his mind causing his body to twitch in reaction. Focusing once more upon the drip, drip, drip, of water he ignored his body and turned his thoughts inwards, shame making his face burn. How had he come to this?

His mind began to grow more and more muddled as he delved for answers. Pictures came and went, of spiders, orcs and men, of long battles and so much blood and gore. And pain. He remembered pain. All consuming, sharp, biting pain but it was all so disjointed. There was no coherent flow, nothing to show how or why just a continual need to keep fighting and above all one image kept repeating over and over, a face, the same face. In different postures, behind different weapons, but still the same face, with round frightened eyes, and tousled hair from under which poked two large ears. A face which remained, staring at him from the dark long after all the other images had faded to nothing.

A/N

I do hope this chapter doesn't come over as too much but I did warn you that this story was going to be darker than The Loss and I'm afraid there is even more to come! Rating has been raised because of this.

If you are still reading I thank you and would love to hear from you to know how you feel it is going. Please!?

Special mentions got to the lovely reviewers for the last chapter - Betsam0731, Horsegirl01, BlackMinx17 and Estaron Your feeback really help convince me to carry on. Thanks guys. :)