-Chapter 5-
It is to be assumed that Legolas was not faring nearly so well as his friend and father searching for him. Indeed, the poor elf was suffering quite miserably under his wretched circumstances. Three days had passed since his captors had placed him in his murderously tight quarters, and he had heard naught from them since. Nothing. No food shoved under the door, not a torch lighting the hallway. It had remained completely and totally dark. He could not see his hand in front of his face. There had been no voices near, not even a rat scuttling to its hiding place in the cracks in the walls. There was nothing at all.
Four days passed.
Five.
Six.
Legolas was becoming desperate. He could feel his pride being chipped away. He wanted so much to hear a voice, to see something. Sometimes it drove him to cry out just to hear something. Every time his hands touched the metal bars around him he shuddered violently. So he tried to remain still at all times. His muscles cramped up horribly, yet every time he tried to stretch he was reminded of how there was no room, how he was trapped, and the walls felt like they were surely moving in on him…
He clenched his teeth. This was pathetic. They had barely laid a finger on him and he was already cracking. He would just have to strengthen his resolve. There was no way Aragorn would get the best of him.
But as the hours turned to days, days turning into a week and then another half, he could feel himself weakening. It was pathetic, he knew, and he hated himself for it. But the dark, close space was absolutely driving him to insanity. With every breath he drew he was reminded of the closeness. And he longed for the voice of another living being. Days of dark solitary confinement would make even the most defiant wither. He began imagining shapes in the dark, before he caught himself and wondered, frightened suddenly, if he might be going mad. He thought he could hear people speaking, and when he strained to listen, they laughed at him. And he thought he could hear music.
Besides the torments of mind he was also feeling a prickling in his stomach. Elves could last for a very long time with little or no nourishment, but Legolas hadn't eaten in well over a week. He was famished, a ravishing hunger sweeping his body. They had left him with no food, and he had not eaten at all since his capture. He was beginning to wonder if they merely intended to leave him there until he died.
Ridiculous elf, one of the voices said. Legolas vaguely figured that there was probably more they wanted to do with him, and they likely wouldn't want him to simply kick the bucket right there. No, it was too soon. Hardly a comforting thought.
He had grasped the bars many times, though his revulsion of them was full, and many times he had slammed his fists, head and any other available parts against the bars, screaming in pure frustration. He could not comprehend being left in here much longer. With not a crack of light, not a crumb of food and not a vocal note in well over a week, the prince found himself quickly sucuumbing to despair. He would give almost anything to be out of here. He didn't care what he had to say, he just needed a breath of fresh air. He needed the light. Elves were not unlike flowers: remove the light and they fade and wither. Indeed, Legolas's limbs had recently begun to shake uncontrollably at periods during the day. His skin, could he have seen it, was pasty and cold. Despair overcame his thoughts at many times of the day. At times he felt compelled to tear at his hair, screaming, for if only he could get out of here….
Then, at long last, after eleven days in the utter dark, cold and horrible, horrible closeness, the door cracked open and was quickly filled by a tall, arrogant silhouette. Legolas nearly cried for joy at seeing light for the first time in nearly a fortnight.
"My, Legolas," came Aragorn's low, sneering voice. "Are you actually happy to see me? I knew it would happen…"
"I—" Legolas swallowed. He wanted desperately to be out of here, in chains or not, just as long as the dark would go away. He dared not make Aragorn angry, for as easily as he had opened the door he could close it again, leaving the elf to confinement and the dark…
"I…am pleased to see you," he said in a low, emotionless tone. Aragorn actually threw back his head and laughed. It was a coarse, unpleasant sound which made Legolas flinch rather violently.
"Are you sure?" Aragorn smirked. "You don't sound very sure, Legolas. Perhaps I should just…?" he left the question unanswered but started slowly creaking the door shut.
"No!" the word ripped itself from Legolas's throat before he could stop it, and he secretly cursed himself for his weakness.
"No?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Then what, pray, should I do, ernil?"
Legolas gritted his teeth. Aragorn was taunting him, baiting him. He knew he would have to play along for now if he ever wanted to get out of here.
"Get me out of here," he hissed, thoroughly hating himself for sounding like such a child.
"Yes, I thought you might say that," the despicable human said. A smile slowly twisted the corners of his mouth. "Very well," he said, and motioned with his hand for two guards to enter.
They pulled the grateful—yet loathing them all the while—elf from his cage. Legolas immediately arched his back and stretched. He knew not how much of the solitary confinement he would have been able to endure.
Aragorn looked at him expectantly.
"Yes?" demanded the elf, rather irritably.
"Are not you going to thank me, Legolas?" the adan asked smoothly. "I thought we had been over this already. Did never your father teach you better manners?"
"You kept me locked in a cage for near a fortnight with naught a bite to eat nor light to cheer," Legolas said tightly, his jaw and fists clenched. "Pray tell, Aragorn, what I have to thank you for."
Aragorn made a tsking noise in his throat. He mock-sighed and indicated again to the guards. They immediately began dragging the elf back to his tiny confinement. Legolas blanched visibly and struggled.
"Wait," he said desperately. "Wait—I—"
"Halt," Aragorn ordered, holding up a hand. He leered at the elf. "Yes, Legolas? Is there something you wanted to say?" he smiled sweetly, and Legolas's desire to punch him in the face doubled.
"I—thank you," the elf said stiffly, refusing to meet the human's eye.
"For what, dear prince?" the nasty smile widened, and Legolas longed dearly to remove several teeth from that gross excuse for a smile.
"For—releasing me," he said, even more stiffly.
Aragorn tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think there is something you have forgotten still. Did we not already discuss how I am to be addressed?"
When Legolas stubbornly refused to reply, the human continued,
"But of course if you do not remember, there are certainly ways of…refreshing your memory," he finished with a meaningful glance at the loathsome torture device behind them.
Beating down his pride, the elf replied as graciously as he could manage—approximately equivalent to the grace of addressing a warg—
"Sir," he gritted out through clenched teeth.
Aragorn sighed. "That will have to do, I suppose. We wouldn't want you back in there anyway, too many better things to do…"
He motioned and the guards jerkily led the elf out of the cell. He blinked as the blessed light streaned rather painfully into his deprived eyes—and jerked violently as a strip of dark cloth was roughly bound about his eyes.
"Give him nourishment, get him prepared. You may use….force…if necessary…" Aragorn sounded bored. "Bring him to me when you have finished. He need not rest. I daresay he has had plenty of it over the last fornight…" His cruel laughted echoed down the long hallway as he exited their presence.
Legolas bit his lip in frustration as he was forced into a kneeling position and a cup was thrust roughly to his lips.
"Drink," hissed a guard.
"What is it?" Legolas began to demand, but his head was pulled back and his jaw forced open as they poured the liquid down his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he doubled over, gasping for breath.
"'Tis only water, fool," said Tisdal with disdain. "We'd not poison ye without Lord's orders. He said he desired ye nourished, no? Then nourished you'll be, like it or not, and it's best for you if you cooperate. Forget not that the Lord decreed we may harm you should you resist."
When Legolas was silent, Tisdal dug his foot into the elf's side and demanded, "Are we clear, elf?"
"Aye. We are," was the elf's only response. It would do no good to argue with the man. Tisdal seemed disappointed with the lack of response and so shoved a square of bread into the elf's mouth to assuage his anger.
"Chew," he commanded forcefully. Legolas obediently chewed and swallowed. Tisdal waited, obviously hoping to goad the elf into actually asking for more, but when Legolas remained stubbornly patient, the man, scowling, forcefully jammed another bite into the unnvervingly silent prince's mouth.
At the finish of this morsel, he again paused. Legolas barely restrained himself rolling his eyes. The fool was being ridiculous. Merely getting a meal was going to take all night at this idiot's sluggardly pace.
"Dear Illuvatar," Legolas drawled boredly. "Intend you to turn this simple process into an all-night drama? You must know how to insert food into another's mouth. Surely you cannot be as deprived of brains as you look. Obviously you must have done it for yourself your entire life, though if your intelligence matches your looks it is beyond me how you even managed that…"
He smirked, knowing perfectly well that he would pay the price for his cheek, but it was worth it to imagine the bright spots of color now flooding the man's face.
"Why, you ungrateful little…" Tisdal hissed, drawing back a fist and striking the elf squarely in the gut. Legolas, expecting the blow, caught it well, though doubling up nonetheless. Whatever the human lacked in brainpower her certainly made up for in strength. Roughly seizing the elf's long hair he forced his head against the wall as he threw blows all over his unprotected body. Several minutes of abuse later had the elf on the floor, body aching with bruises, but pride fully intact. He had endured far worse before. It had been worth a few bruises to see the man's rage. Though he did not know it Legolas had gotten the better of him.
"Know what, elf?" Tisdal said viciously when he had finished his abuse. "I think that's plenty of food for you. And this…" he shoved the flask into the elf's unresisting mouth. Legolas narrowly avoided gagging on it by tilting his head forward so it did not instantly drain down his throat.
"That's plenty of water. You're fine and dandy to go. Lord Aragorn will be waiting." He spat, unaware that a few bites of bread and a few mouthfuls of water would actually sustain the elf quite well for the time being.
Legolas wondered how exactly the word dandy had entered into the man's vocabulary.
"Up," commanded Tisdal, jerking him to his feet. Legolas remained motionless while they pulled a fresh shirt over his head after removing the old one. He held his head high with disdain. After a few moments more, he was lead out of the hall by a cord attached to the bonds keeping captive his hands. It seemed to be a bit brighter, but the fabric over his eyes was doing well its job and keeping the light-starved elf in almost complete darkness.
After what was in the elf's estimation thirty or forty minutes of walking, a sudden shove from behind made the elf stumble forward. It was only when he heard the sudden dull roar of a crowd, and felt hostile human presence close to him, that he realized he had been thrust over a threshold into daylight.
He stopped so suddenly that the guard to his rear nearly ran into him. Eyes narrowing behind the blindfold, he breathed in the deceitfully fresh air deeply, cautiously. He tested the air, sifting it through his senses.
The air was dirty, he surmised carefully, full of turmoil…tension, and excitement, ran high…he could hear a rowdy, jeering crowd…and the stench of blood ran unmistakably through the other strains. Behind him, the guard swore and shoved the butt of his spear into the elf, forcing him to move again. They kept the milder pace up for only a few moments. Legolas could sense earthy ground beneath his padded feet. He could hear a crowd, fairly far above him, jeering at someone he could not see nor sense. Suddenly he was forced to his knees by the blunt spear tip again. A rough hand on the nape of his neck forced his head down in submission. Sardonically the elf figured he must be in front of Aragorn; besides, the man's scent had long been on the air. Compelled to remain in this humiliating position, he did what he could. He defiantly spat on the ground at the man's feet. He tensed, readying himself for the blow that was sure to come, but none did.
Indeed, Aragorn was laughing. "Nay, Tisdal—would that his blood not be spilled before its time…"
"Yes, lord," the gruff and obviously disappointed voice of the chief guard acknowledged reluctantly.
"Place him within," Aragorn commanded. Legolas's heart momentarily froze, before he gathered himself together for what was sure to come. Aragorn's words confirmed what he had suspected earlier: an arena. He had been brought into an arena, and surely a fighter better-equipped and far more nourished waited with sickening eagerness to try his luck with an elf.
His bonds were unlocked, but the blindfold was not removed. When he queried this, he was spat upon and laughed at. They warned him if he was to remove it he would be instantly killed. A knife was thrust into his hands, and he was shoved into what must be a circular structure. He could feel the earthy ground again, and heard the grinding of the iron door behind him as the key turned in its lock.
He cautiously ran his finger along the edge of the knife, testing it. He estimated it to be perhaps twelve inches long, and fairly sharp—a good knife, it seemed, but quite likely to be unfit for the challenge he was about to face.
"Dear friends!" Aragorn's voice loomed over the crowd, and they immediately fell silent. "Thank you for joining me for this death match…we have a special presentation for you today. Legolas, elf-prince of Mirkwood, has agreed to join us here today!"
The crowd both booed and mocked, screaming profanities and insults at him. Legolas felt only disgust. Insults flowed right through him.
"And the human…well, his name matters not, for he is a slave…but today he has the chance to win his freedom! Kill the elf, slave, and freedom is yours!"
The crowd crowed and screamed even louder. They seemed to be having a terrific laugh at something unknown to Legolas, like an inside joke. His insides curled, wondering what this mystery element was that would undoubtedly affect him.
"Now…" hissed the man Legolas used to call friend. "You fight to the death. Begin."
It was a few seconds before anyhting happened. Legolas remained stock-still, tensing, waiting for attack. And it came, in the form of a whip singing down to make contact on his bare back. Legolas swore. Whipping swiftly around he managed to catch the whip in his knife. Snapping his arm down he heard, with satisfaction, the cruel cord snap. Unfortunately, his opponent seemed to have more than one, and Legolas had not even rendered the first one completely useless. Now he blindly fought an unknown man who was armed far better than he, and additionally could see who he was fighting.
As the whip came whistling down again Legolas was forced to do a ridiculous kind of pirouette to avoid being struck. The mass screamed and hooted even louder than before.
For what seemed like hours he danced away from the human. Several times he could not jumped out of the way in time and had multiple bloody lashes decorating his body as a result. He could never get close enough to injure the other, and if had been thinking clearly he would have realized that this was a ridiculous 'death match'. Neither seemed to have been given weapons which would really injure the other. One would be hard-pressed to kill with a whip, and a knife did little good when the bearer could not see to throw nor become close enough to slash.
There was a sudden searing, red-hot pain in his shoulder. He gave a cry and dropped temporarily to his knees, the pain blinding him. He groped for his shoulder and felt the thick wooden pole of a spear protruding from it. He wondered dizzily why the opponent had not used this before, but dismissed it as waves of pain wracked his body. He rose unsteadily to his feet, trying to to stumble, but the pain was immense. But he knew what he had to do, if he wanted to get out of here alive…
Gritting his teeth, he roughly clamped a shaking hand on the hilt of the spear. Then, steeling himself against what he knew was going to be the worst pain he'd felt in years, he tore it straight out of its wound. The elf prince howled in pain and dropped once again to his knees, clutching the shoulder from which blood now poured freely. The pain was agonizing, devastating…but he had to get up, had to continue, for if he didn't, he would surely die…
Suddenly he heard the other stumble. The throng of bloodthirtsy onlookers was now screaming so loudly he felt his head was ringing. Rage and adrenaline fueled his efforts, the blinding pain making him almost incapable of rational thought. Without thinking, he stepped forward and made a wild grab. He felt his hand connect with a soft tunic. Pulling his adversary towards him he made a wild slash with the knife, swift and fatal…
And knew, a split second too late, that something was wrong. Something here was dreadfully, horribly wrong. He dropped his knife and fell to his knees.
He heard a choked gasp come from the being and realized, with a stab of horror, that this person did not carry himself the same way as the other fighter…that this person's aura was far different…that the bloodstained tunic was soft, actually soft, not made of rough cotton…
The rage he had felt upon being injured was fading, replaced by a desperate desire to find the truth. Clawing at his head, still breathing heavily from the fight and his shoulder still giving him hell, he tore off the stifling blindfold and blinked desperately, trying to force his eyes to adjust faster.
His heart sank in absolute dread as his vision finally cooperated and Legolas was able to see who it was that he had struck down, and probably injured fatally…
It was not the other fighter. This pale, bleeding figure had long, fine hair, and his eyes, though growing dimmer, still shone a bright blue…
Still shone, Legolas realized as a scream of pure rage and horror left his lips, with the light of the Eldar.
He had killed an elf.
