I am profusely sorry for the lie I told last chapter. It was unintentional, I swear. I honest to heaven tried to get a new chapter up like I promised. But writer's block had stuck its needle in my brain, paralyzing my muse until the poisonous cramp had been removed and she was once again set free to inspire.
Chapter 4
Morning dawned entirely too early for Legolas Thranduilion. He stifled a moan, trying in vain to stretch his aching muscles which had been forced to remain in the same position all night. He was incredibly suspicious of having been left all alone the entire night. After Aragorn had left, he had not returned at all. Light had crept silkily into the room and the sun was now nearing its highest point in the sky and still his captor had yet to return. In his mind Legolas darkly figured Aragorn was out planning some sadistic torture for the elf. Hardly a comforting thought.
Suddenly the door banged open. Aragorn, accompanied by several heavily armed guards, stepped across the threshold. He looked tired and ill-tempered, though something malicious gleamed behind his eyes, like the glint of a sword. He said nothing, only indicated to his men to remove the elf.
Legolas was ready for them. The second one of his hands had been removed from their bonds he twisted it free from the hand of the guard and smashed it into the nearest nose. A man dropped to his knees, howling in pain and clutching his face. Blood streamed from between his fingers as he glared at the elf through eyes glazed by pain and hatred. His victory didn't last long, though. The instant his fist had flown through the air and hit its mark Legolas felt crushing pain on his wrist and cold steel at his throat. Dark eyes leered down at him in anger.
"Try that one again, elf," a burly guard hissed. "I would love to see you try. Do not think I would not slit your throat."
"Slit mine and your master shall slit yours, fool," Legolas replied tightly. He knew it was bold to answer with a sword at his throat, but he also knew his retort had equal truth: Aragorn wanted him alive and would probably kill the man who dared touch him without express permission. The man's small eyes darkened in anger. He drew back a fist to punch the elf when Aragorn spoke.
"Stop."
The guard halted immediately.
"That was not ordered," Aragorn said in a dangerously silky voice. "Do explain your intentions."
"I uh, well, I just thought—" stuttered the man. Legolas observed with some grim satisfaction that the guard was extremely frightened of Aragorn. That could work later to his advantage. Clearing his throat, the man pulled himself together. "I thought, Lord Aragorn sir, that were he unconscious, he would be easier to collect. 'Tis all, sir. No disrespect intended, sir, and my deepest apologies if that were so."
Aragorn nodded, a tiny smile curling the edges of his mouth. Legolas realized with revulsion how much he was enjoying the man's groveling. "Apology accepted, Tisdal. I thank you for thoughtfulness. However…" his smile widened. "I have a much better punishment in mind for dear Prince Legolas." He motioned with his hand. "Get him up, and let us be off."
His eyes shifted to the elf lying prostrate on the floor at his feet. "I advise you, Legolas, not to resist. You have an unpleasant future yet, and 'tis doubtful you should like to toy with the one who can and will make that future your worst nightmare."
The guard removed his knee from Legolas's wrist, eyeing the elf with hatred. When Legolas stirred to resist again, Aragorn nodded ever so slightly. Without warning, the hilt of Tisdal's sword smashed painfully into his face. Unprepared for it, Legolas cried out, before everything fell into a steep black oblivion.
-D-
Legolas awoke to find himself in chains. He wasn't surprised. After defying Aragorn yet again he was actually mildly surprised to find he was not strapped down to be beaten. His entire face ached, and he could feel dried blood crusted on the corner of his mouth.
"Sir." Tisdal caught Aragorn's attention with a muttered word. "Sir, the prisoner is awake."
"Ah, good." Aragorn peered into Legolas's bruised, swollen face. "Not feeling very well, are we, Legolas? That is the price for disobedience. But no doubt you will learn to obey by the end.."
"Never," Legolas spat, his pride rearing up within him. Aragorn merely gazed with feigned pity at the elf.
"Then I am afraid you have a difficult lesson to learn now," was all he said. Deeper and deeper they went until Legolas actually felt a little chilled from the depth underground they were. Finally they turned a corridor and Legolas saw a door ahead. A door appearing to lead to a very small, very dark little room. Fear welled up within him, a fear he fought desperately to quash down. It would never do to show them his terror of small and dark places…though he bitterly reflected it to be a fear which Aragorn knew well he possessed. His apprehension mounted as he was dragged closer and closer.
The door was unlocked and he was shoved in, followed by a few guards while Aragorn waited outside, watching. A satisfied smirk played around his lips.
His eyes adjusting quicker than the men's to the darkness, Legolas's eyes sought out all four corners of the tiny room. Then his heart dropped in absolute terror as he spotted in the corner an even tinier metal box: a cage. He stopped in his tracks, terror in his eyes, as one of the men headed forward and unlocked the door to the cage. He would not, would not enter in there. They could threaten him, they could beat him. But he would not let them lock him up in a cage, in the utter black. He hated the dark. He hated small, enclosed spaces. In fact, the only times he ever panicked were times like these, when circumstances threatened to keep him away in a cold, dark enclosed space. And Aragorn knew that. He knew that this was indeed the worst torture he could exact on the elf.
"No! No! Daro!" he thrashed wildly as the guards laid threatening arms on his own, dragging the claustrophobic elf towards the inhumane metal box.
"Release me, sons of Sauron!" he hissed, straining with all his might against the men. He ignored the muttered curses and blows they were attempting to land on him. His heart pounded fiercely and only one thought entered into his head: that he must not go into there. He had been locked up cruelly thus many years ago and it had nearly killed him. Twisting his head around he peered desperately at Aragorn, hoping against hope that even in the man's madness and cruelty he might be spared this—for Aragorn knew well how claustrophobic the elf was and how he hated the closed and dark…but Aragorn stood quite still, arms crossed on his chest, watching the proceedings with a self-satisfied smirk alight his lips.
Like a madman Legolas was lashing out at anyone he could reach. Several of the guards were swearing loudly at him. Even in chains he was more difficult to restrain than most of the prisoners they were used to. Several men attempting to restrain his flailing arms ended up with bruises and scratches. Legolas didn't care what they did to him for it; if it was a few more seconds out of that thing he could deal with it.
Suddenly a large fist sunk itself deep into the elf's stomach. Legolas doubled over, wheezing, gasping for breath, and the men took advantage of this to force his arms behind his back and his head and shoulders into the cage. Overbalanced, the elf crashed down onto his knees. The guards made quick work of shoving the rest of his body into the tiny structure fit for animals. Though sickeningly it was obvious it had not been made for animals, but for people. There was enough room for the elf to lie down, with his knees slightly bent and his neck slightly curled, but that was all. There was no way he could sit up, nor stretch.
And thus the Prince of Mirkwood lay curled up in a ball, thin frame shaking, mentally berating himself for the weakness he was showing but fear and claustrophobia overwhelming all his senses.
"'Tis not fun, is it, Legolas?" Aragorn mocked softly from the doorway. Legolas refused to benefit him with a response. He forced himself to stop shaking, but a slight cry did escape his lips. He bit his lip fiercely, determined not to allow them to think they had beaten him. He would never be subdued by Men. Never.
"What was that?" Aragorn asked in malicious delight. "Do you not like the dark, Legolas?" he taunted, dark glee alight on his features. Legolas clenched his jaw, refusing to answer.
I hope you fall into Orodruin, he cursed the man silently.
"So defiant," the human smirked softly. Arrogance and malice exuded from him like a foul odor. He clicked his tongue mockingly. "Well, that will change, dear prince…that will change."
Then the door was shut. There was absolutely no light whatsoever in the cell within the cell. He could hear nothing from outside. A choking sob welled up within him, threatening to break loose. Pain he could handle. Ridicule was water off a duck's back to him. But this…enclosing a body meant for freedom was one of the worst tortures available.
And so the Prince of Mirkwood curled into a ball so he could pretend there were no bars, and shut his eyes so he could not see the dark.
-D-
Meanwhile, the true Heir of Isildur and Legolas's father were searching in vain for their fallen comrade.
"I cannot find anything," said Aragorn in frustration. "Naught, it appears, is left to be found. His captors knew truly what they did when he was stolen. No evidence beyond what was found already is apparent."
"So they are skilled, then," Thranduil murmured, looking troubled. "And if this skilled they be in hiding their tracks one can only wonder what skill we may encounter when we should find them."
When, not if, he said, though both had a tiny voice in the back of their minds wondering if it would ever be. They had found themselves on several false trails, and it was discouraging. This was particularly true for Aragorn, for being a Ranger he was accustomed to being able to find anything he set his mind to uncover. Now, when their search had thus far yielded nothing at all, he was beginning to doubt his own skills and wonder if perhaps his match had been met.
"I wonder if we shall ever find any trace of him at all," he grumbled slightly, letting his sour mood and the complete lack of facts get to him. "He is gone—vanished—and with no explanation. Perhaps we are no contention and our search is in vain."
"Speak not in such discouraging manner," Thrandiul reprimanded sharply. Aragorn's shoulders slumped; the last thing he needed right now was to be corrected, though he knew Thranduil was right. Voicing their discouragement was voicing gloom, and that was not likely to be helpful to their current situation. He slowly blew out his breath in a sigh, recognizing that Thranduil was probably just as discouraged as the Ranger; he simply chose to show it in more mature ways.
"You are right, Highness," he said slowly, not grudgingly, but a little reluctantly. "I apologize—'tis no way for one who calls himself grown to be behaving. I will endeavor to be more uplifting."
Flowery language, but Legolas had always said that was how his father spoke, and liked it when others spoke that way too. He was stuck traveling with Thranduil for Valar knew how long—he might as well be on the king's good side.
Thranduil's face twisted in a wry grin. "Been picking up tips from my son, have you? Very well, Ranger—you may 'endeavor', as you have so eloquently put it, just bear in mind that eternal optimism may just as much grate on my nerves as downtrodden words."
"Optimism uplifts the spirit, while sourness builds contention, where then shall I find balance?" Aragorn inquired, his mood lightening at the banter.
"Find it yourself, adan, else know that the wrath of a Silvan elf is not to be toyed with," Thranduil replied evenly.
"I have heard the same of the Noldor elves," Aragorn said with a quick grin. "Whose tale shall I believe? For I hold close acquaintance with both; useful information that may prove indeed!"
Thranduil shook his head. "Your quick tongue may land you in more trouble than any legion of elves shall ever impart, human. Be wary and think oft to keep it in check."
"But I have heard that a man's wit can be his greatest ally," Aragorn said quickly, rather knowing he was pushing his luck. "Shall I then keep in check that which may destroy my enemies?"
"Blast it all, Ranger," Thranduil grumbled. "Has never your father, the legendary Lord Elrond, taught you to keep still and respect your elders?"
"Yea and nay," replied Aragorn thoughtfully, hiding a grin at his answer, which was sure to infuriate the already-agitated king.
"By the Valar!" Thranduil threw up his hands. "You have spent far too much time with Elves, young one, that much is evident."
"Something most Elves would quite condone and call me wiser for, possessing a knack for claiming credit for all good wherever they venture," Aragorn quipped swiftly, a definite twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He had to duck a deftly thrown knife at this point—Thranduil had apparently had quite enough of Aragorn's cheek.
"Sorry, milord," he injected swiftly, after Thranduil, looking quite murderous, had reached for a second knife. He cast a guilty smile at the king, one he had been fighting to contain during the entire course of the banter.
"No harm done, child," Thranduil grumbled, putting emphasis on his current opinion of Aragorn. "Now," he said pointedly. "May we resume our original intentions?"
"As my Lord the king wishes!" Aragorn couldn't help but sweep into a huge theatrical bow as a last jab. Thranduil rolled his eyes in a most un-kingly, un-elfly manner which nearly made Aragorn start up all over again. He sobered immediately upon seeing Thranduil glance meaningfully at the knives at the king's own belt.
"Sorry, milord," he apologized again. The playful mood was fading, a soberly realistic atmosphere settling in its place. "I wish of course to resume our search for our missing prince."
He pulled a map from his pack and set it on a nearby stump, motioning for Thranduil to take a closer look.
"See, here, my lord," he indicated to a spot on the map. "This is Blood Gulch. 'Tis a small human…civilization." He paused. 'Town' would have indicated some order. In Blood Gulch there certainly was none.
Thranduil, noticing his pause, raised an eyebrow in question.
"It is a town of drunkards and whores," Aragorn admitted reluctantly. "However…" he paused again, knowing the king was not going to like what he was going to say. "We are very short on supplies, milord. Blood Gulch is the only town within thirty or forty miles of our current location. We must enter into it, if even only for a short while, to regain supplies and other needs."
"A town of drunk men and, er, loose women?" Thranduil looked uncertain, and Aragorn sighed mentally. Elves, particularly those of the Mirkwood strain, tended to be a little close-minded about that sort of thing. Not that Aragorn supported the drunk lifestyle, but sometimes it was necessary to venture into their midst.
"I will not," he declared, Aragorn thought, a little childishly. "You may go, Aragorn, and collect supplies for us. I and my guards shall remain here." It was evident the distaste the king had for humans, and his complete reluctance to be involved with them, though understandable, was a little taxing.
"Sir," Aragorn said patiently. "I do not believe that to be wise. There is first the danger in splitting up." When Thranduil opened his mouth to protest Aragorn held up a peaceful hand, begging leave to finish his thoughts. The king sighed and nodded. "While I know you and your guards are completely battle-capable, I fear the danger in becoming lost. With all due respect, my lord, you are unfamiliar with the area. If danger should arise and you are forced to flee you shall know not where to go, and furthermore, I should not know where to find you. It would be an unnecessary and troublesome delay. And, my lord, I have been to the town before. They refuse to provide any man with supplies fit for more than the party he presents. 'Tis their way of ensuring every man is known to them." He sighed. "The only semblance of order they do have there, and an irritating measure to say the least." He turned his attention back to the apprehensive elf-king. "It is with this reasoning do I request you and your guards accompany myself into Blood Gulch," he said, and respectfully fell silent and waited for a reply.
Thranduil sat still and quiet for a moment. At length, he muttered, "It is a vile name." Aragorn did not reply, waiting. Finally Thranduil sighed. "Very well, Aragorn," he said. "I can find no flaw with your reasoning. We shall all travel together."
Aragorn acknowledge this with a respectful nod of his head. "Thank you, my lord." He hesitated. "If it pleases you, sire, I will handle the talking. Hopefully the bartender will be in a good mood and require only bodies, not faces. You may desire, sir, to have you and your elves covered in a hood whilst we venture in there."
Thranduil looked at him sharply. "You did not state that this place was unfriendly to elves," he intoned. "I am king and it does not feel well to be forced to hide my identity." He stared Aragorn in the eye, demanding an answer. Aragorn swallowed.
"It is not exactly…unfriendly…." He started, unsure of how to put it. "It's just that…well, milord, elves are not an oft occurrence. In fact, most men there are likely never to have set eyes on one before. I merely meant not to draw unnecessary attention to our party."
"Three hooded figures will surely draw attention," Thranduil murmured, looking thoughtful. Aragorn waited. Thranduil spoke again. "The guards shall remain at the edge of the wood," he announced decisively. When Aragorn opened his mouth to protest Thranduil held up a hand, silencing him. "I shall…persuade…the barkeep to give us the supplies we need for them," he said. "And whilst they wait, I shall send the others to find game. Surely there must be a deer or a few rabbits within the vicinity."
And nothing Aragorn said could change the king's mind. Too much attention, he insisted. That and Aragorn thought he was probably looking forward to bullying the unsuspecting barkeep into giving them more than they were allotted. He couldn't say he blamed him. After days of nonactivity the king was probably more than a little bored. So finally Aragorn relented. He reflected vaguely that it might be for the better anyway, the men of Blood Gulch had been known for their...unsavory tastes...in...simliar flesh. A point which Aragorn had rather conveniently neglected to bring up with the king.
They arranged a meeting spot, as well as a backup meeting place just in case the two elves should have to flee. Unlikely as it was, Aragorn insisted that they should flee, and not fight, if they were attacked. Thranduil was violently opposed to what he viewed as cowardice, but Aragorn persisted, reminding him that though his elves were excellent warriors, they could be overtaken. That and subtlety was the best option. If attackers knew not who the elves were they could not possibly begin to suspect their mission. Thus, the two elves would do some hunting, get some rest, and keep watch, per Thranduil's decision.
And then side-by-side an apprehensive elven king and a wary yet confident young Ranger set off into the gloom that was Blood Gulch.
----
Yippee, finally, a new chapter. And five is already in the works. Review, por favor, and I shall be much obliged (and motivated). Thank you for sticking with me!
TRS
