Chapter 8

A/N

Okay guys, so here's the next chappie (as promised!), so sit back, relax and enjoy!

Sphinxy

I was still dark when Aéneth awoke. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Then the previous events flooded back into her mind and she sat bolt upright with a small 'oh!'. She scanned the area around her to work out where she was. Within the dimly lit room, was a small black candle sat on a small rickety old wooden table, and the rock-like bed she was now sat on. Then she searched frantically for a weapon, but finding none, she went to get up.

With no luck.

She couldn't move either of her arms off of the bed. Metal chains snaked around her wrists, holding her captive. She grimaced, and tried desperately to free herself, but to no prevail. She tugged once more and winced as the rusted metal sliced through her flesh. Blood trickled along her wrist and onto the palm of her hand. Hoping this would lubricate the chains, she gently tried to slip her hand out and gritted her teeth to hold back a cry, as it tore the wound open even more. Sweat poured down her face with the effort and a small strangled cry slipped out from in between her teeth. Panting for breath, she tried the other wrist, but it was no use.

Soon, she was cut and bloody with absolutely no means of escape. A foul smell crept into her nostrils and almost made her gag. An orc came storming into the tent and Aéneth froze. She saw dried blood on his already filthy tunic and her thoughts wandered to Legolas. She tasted bile.

The orc said nothing as he removed the chains from her and bound her wrists together with rope. Aéneth winced as it dug into her open wounds, ripping them open further and cutting her deeper. Showing no mercy, the orc dragged her from the tent and into the night. The fire had been re-built in the centre of the clearing, surrounded by the tents made with a slowly yellowing hide. Although the fires had by now been extinguished, some of the tents were blackened with ash and soot from Aéneth's previous attack. Then she remembered the dust.

But she couldn't feel the power any more. It was if it had snuck back to the depths it had come from, like it was hiding deep inside her, neither heard nor seen. No matter what she tried, she could not summon the glistening golden particles she had before. Each time she tried, she just got further and further away from her goal. The wind whipped around her face, stinging her eyes and pulling strands of hair out of their neat elven braids. The smell of ash and soot mingled with that of rotting flesh and decay, burning her nostrils until they were sore. Dust motes float in the air and settle on the tip of her tongue as she draws each breath.

Orcs swarm around the dancing flames, permanent grimaces set on their foul faces. Some have adopted tattoos on their decaying skin, black ink that slithers up their arms or round their necks.

As she walks past the sneering faces of the orcs, she sees Lucrio, caged and roped, like a wild beast. He seems so weak and feeble, unlike what Aéneth was used to seeing. He was pacing up and down in his confined space, growling in protest. Instead of freedom, he was rewarded with beatings for his 'entertainment'. Only orcs could find others suffering entertaining. He too was soaked with sweat and blood, looking somewhat like a bedraggled kitten, lost and helpless. Aéneth tried to call his name, but all that escaped her mouth was a gurgle and a strangled cry. Lucrio still heard her though.

He roared with anger and leapt up against the bars of his tiny cage. His claws clicked and clacked against the wood and his mouth was opened wide in a war cry. He shook the cage as he thrashed around wildly. Ignoring the whips, fists and even sharpened spears of the orcs, he pressed his nose out of the bars of the cage. Aéneth tried to reach out to him, but was cut off by her own cry of pain as the orc leading her tugged on her ropes impatiently.

They were ruthless.

Savage beasts that should be tamed, the orcs closed in further. It was like they were watching their favourite performance, and soon the ending would come around.

Death.

Aéneth searched wildly and blindly for Legolas, her eyes scanning over the beasts around her. At last she found him, but she almost wished she hadn't. His tunic was torn and covered with blood, his wrists red raw from struggling. He limped alongside another orc, his eyes red and bloodshot. His hair was dishevelled, a complete mess upon his head. He looked dreadfull, but then she saw his skin.

He was covered head to toe in gashes, bruises, scars and cuts. He'd been beaten as bad as Lucrio, and worst of all was the open wound that stretched from his left shoulder to his right hip on the front of his body. Blood poured from it, staining his already ruined tunic and flowing onto the floor. Small scarlet droplets pooled at his feet as he stumbled along, his usual ice-blue eyes a clouded grey.

He looked up as he approached, and he caught sight of Aéneth. Life suddenly flew back into his body and he screamed her name. He struggled against his restraints trying to reach her, despite the steady flow of crimson oozing from his wrists.

The orcs tried to hold him back, but when Aéneth began to pull too, it was no use. They finally got close enough and they reached their hands out to each other.

Tendrils of gold began to swirl around Aéneth's wrist, but she didn't notice; Legolas was alive. With one final effort, they reached out once more to each other and mustered all their strength to this one moment. They got closer and closer until finally their fingertips touched.

And then there was light.

A/N

Hi again!

So that was chapter 8, what do you think? Any ideas on what's going to happen next? I know, why don't you give me a review with your suggestion(s), and the more ideas I get, the quicker I'll update? Seems fair enough.

So get reviewing!

Sphinxy