A/N: Well, I shall be continuing this fiction for now...Mostly because I just fell in love with Elrond all over again. He is absolutely amazing. Enjoy this silly little chapter.
WARNING: Torture injuries.
Elrohir and Elladan conversed quietly as they strode through the Last Homely House, the sunlight carving through the windowpanes reflecting on their gleaming armor. They were startlingly alike, with high, proud foreheads, pale, beautiful features, and sharp, straight profiles. Dark eyes were equally unfathomable, thin lips identically pressed together in a thin, hard line. Elrohir was perhaps the slightest bit taller and a shade more slightly built, but it was a minute difference that did not take away from the eerie likeness of the two brothers. They were in fact twins, and this in itself was quite a rarity among Elves, seeing as they could only have children once every decade. Elladan, the subtly shorter and perhaps just a breath broader than his twin, spoke first. "I do not like it, brother," he murmured quietly, keeping his voice deliberately low so that the two Elves trailing behind them might not hear. "Have you seen them? They have not stopped gawking at their surroundings since we brought them here. How long do you think they have been enslaved?"
"Perhaps all their lives," Elrohir responded, his words more a breath than a voice. "And I feel pity for them. They have not bathed in many days, so it seems, and they are dangerously thin." He glanced behind him at the friends who were gathered close to each other like a pair of startled chicks. He noticed the blind elleth seemed to be leading the blond ellon, despite the obvious handicap of her lack of sight. The blond ellon seemed absolutely terrified, cowering with his head tucked to his chest and his shoulders drawn in convulsively. He flinched at the slightest sound, eyes that were cemented to the ground were wet with frightened tears. "Should we not make them more presentable before we show them to our father?" Elrohir whispered.
"Aye, that was my intention. Ada has a quick temper - I would not like to see it roused over some ignorant, uncouth Men." Elladan said. Elrohir tightened his grip on his sword hilt convulsively, glancing behind him again quickly.
"They have been shamefully treated," he growled, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. "And if you do not wish to see Ada's temper aroused, then you shall see mine. Indeed, 'twas all I could do not to take the head off that miserable man's neck the instant I saw that poor elleth."
"'Twould do no good to slaughter a band of slavers," Elladan said reasonably. "Although I see your point, it would be a wasted effort. Let them live - perhaps the shame of being turned away shall smart enough to keep them from weak quarry."
Amariel felt the cool, clammy touch of Legolas's fingers beneath hers as they tentatively followed the guards. They had insisted that they come with them, and Amariel's first thought was one of distrust. Her blindness had caused her to distrust everything, except Legolas, of course, and these two strange guards were no different. Their voices sounded similar, practically identical, and judging by their footsteps they were of similar weight. But although her ears were sharp, they could not tell her what her eyes could. If she had been able to see, she would have known for sure whether or not to trust these men, Elves though they were. It had been six-and-sixty years since she had been enslaved, and she had learned fast to trust nothing but herself and her friend. She remembered her own people, her own race, but the beautiful language of Elvish did not spring as readily to her lips as Common did. She was rough, undefined, and she was conscious of this the instant the guards had kindly inquired in Elvish as to her injuries. Her injuries pained her, but they were mere scrapes compared to her friend. Legolas had been to Mordor and back at the hands of these Men, and previous Masters. Somehow, despite their unfortunate circumstances, they had managed to stay close by one another.
Legolas was limping badly as he followed Amariel down the hallway. He tried to hide it, as he had been taught, but it was impossible to completely mask the pain in his eyes and the limp on his leg. The guards had tried to help, speaking to him in a familiar but relatively unknown language, and he had instantly shied from their touch. Amariel had made a little noise of anger in the back of her throat, similar to an angry cat, the they had backed off. Now he was being led through a large, sunny, spacious hallway, past open doors that beckoned with bright splashes of color and laughter. The walls were dark in color, true, but they were scrubbed clean of any mold or moss. It was an improvement, he decided - but still he did not let go of Amariel's hand. He trusted her implicitly, never wavering once. She had always been by him, ever since he was a babe, and those flowing syllables made sense to him. He would die before anything happened to her, and he knew she felt the same way about him. Still, he cowered - the guards were so grim. Were they going to be punished for trespassing through their lands? Instantly a wave of fear so powerful and tangible shook him to the core, and he stopped abruptly, burning tears blocking his vision and his throat.
Elrohir and Elladan looked behind them, pausing, confused, as the blond ellon began to whimper and shake. The blind elleth closed the distance between them, stroking his hair, tucking the matted strands behind an ear, murmuring quietly to him in Common Tongue. She stroked feather-light touches down his cheeks, cupping his chin, and Elladan distinctly heard a few mumbled phrases of Elvish intermingled with Common. He was stunned at the blond ellon's non response to her words. Was it possible that the elf didn't speak Elvish? He took a cautious step forward, and both slaves shrank instinctively away, the blinded elleth shifting her stance automatically to cover more of the frail blond ellon. "You have done no wrong," he assured them. "Come, we shall show you a place to bathe and clean up."
The elleth licked her lips dryly. A bath? Was that possible? The last bath, true bath, she had taken had been nigh on two years ago. She had improvised with a damp rag and streams in the meantime. And soap was an almost unheard of luxury - what were they playing at? Was this some new kind of torture - to offer then a bath, and then seize it at the last moment? This must be it, she decided. She took a reckless gamble, risking their wrath. "P-please, sirs, I have no desire to be toyed with," she said tremblingly. She flinched, expecting the blow which would always land on her right cheek, sometimes on the back of her head. But no blow came, and still she cringed.
Elladan was completely bewildered. Toyed with? "Lady, we are not toying with you. You both need to freshen yourself up, and I have no doubt you both had wounds to be treated. When all that is finished, you shall see Lord Elrond." He tried to sound soothing, but the elleth still cowered.
Ah, so that's where it lay! They were trying to make them look appealing for their Lord. Amariel swallowed hard, knees pressing together instinctively. She did not have the strength or the stamina to fight off a lascivious Lord, not when her wounds were so fresh and her body still aching from running. And she didn't think she had the courage to stand up to the guards, either, and deny the bath. Just the word was making her tremble giddily with anticipation. She decided then and there that she would undergo even the worst attack, if she could just get her hands on a washcloth and a bar of soap. Slowly, she took a step forward, interlacing her fingers with Legolas's. "Come, mellon-nin. Come, be strong for me. Be strong for me, little leaf." She managed to coax him out of his terrified spasm, and they began moving down the hallway again, this time at a much slower pace. Elrohir and Elladan exchanged stricken glances.
The young elves had more scars than they thought.
09
The bathroom was not large, not to the twin's eyes, but they heard the blond ellon gasp at the sight of the wooden tub. It was rustically simplistic, a bathroom for everyday use, with a sturdy wooden tub dominating one corner and several small racks of bathroom essentials covering the other side. A chamber pot was in the final corner, and the doorway completed the room. Several large towels had been stacked on the shelves, along with razors and hairbrushes, several different kinds of soap, and two dishes of scented oil, a mint one for ellyn, a lavender scent for ellith. Elrohir shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Nimrodel should be here soon with water for your bath," he said, clearing his throat slightly. "Please, feel free to use anything in the bathroom. If there is anything you desire, you need only to ask." The twins left, shutting the door with a sharp click behind them.
Legolas and Amariel stayed perfectly still - Legolas, out of shock, and Amariel because she didn't know the layout of the room. Legolas found his voice. "Why are they doing this?" he asked, his voice raspy and frightened. Amariel squeezed his hand.
"I don't know," she admitted. "They must have a meaning. Prepare yourself, Legolas, little one - I hear a step." The door was flung open recklessly, and a slender, smiling elleth with shimmering black hair came in, two heavy, dripping buckets in her hands. Steam was rising invitingly from them, and she dumped them both into the tub. She turned, taking in their wounds and filth at a glance, and her gaze shifted from cheerful business to gentle sympathy.
"Oh! Hello," she said uncertainly, and was dumbfounded when both Legolas and Amariel knelt, heads bowed. "Er, will that be enough for your bath, or will you require more?" She fumbled at the hem of her apron, completely astonished.
They said nothing, keeping their eyes trained on the cobblestone floors. Nimrodel rubbed the back of her neck, and then fled the room with a hasty "Goodbye!". Only after she left did Legolas and Amariel get up. Slowly, Amariel felt her way around the room. When her fingers touched the tub, then the water, she gasped as if burnt. "Legolas!" she breathed. "The water...it's warm!"
They wasted no time, stripping their dirty rags instantly, shedding the ragged clothes and piling them on the floor. As Legolas's tunic and leggings came off, his injuries became shockingly apparent. Red-and-purple stripes crossed his back and shoulders, and his left ankle was swollen and bruised. Wide black bruises crossed his ribs, showing where he had been thrown over the back of a horse roughly. A red welt, fresh, from a leather collar, had circled his neck, and there were numerous lacerations slicing across his dangerously pale skin. Scars intertwined, forming a hideous tapestry of pain and suffering - there were even several irregularly shaped scars that showed burns and bites. Every bone in his ribs were bared under his paper-thin skin, and every vertebrae was threatening to rupture through his dangerously thin body. He tested the waters, eyes instantly going wide when he felt the heat. He fumbled for a bar of soap, and then hesitated, freezing. "Is it...is it a test?" he said, voice hoarse and cracking. "Will they punish us if we use these?"
She was in the middle of trying to undo her bodice without ripping any more strings when she heard him, and her normally dexterous hands fumbled. Was it a test? "It might," she said slowly. "But at least we shall be clean."
It was an excellent point, and Legolas began slathering himself with soap, scrubbing his body fiercely. It stung when it came into contact with his many wounds, but the layers upon layers of filth, blood, and saliva were finally coming off. The water began turning a nasty, interesting shade of brownish-purple. Meanwhile, Amariel had disentangled herself from her bodice and tattered skirt, and stood unclothed in the slightly drafty bathroom. Her scars were deeper and more drastic - six lines, even and precise as though a surgeon had done them, marred the skin above her breasts. Her flat, hunger-hewed stomach was bruised harshly, the clear, solid imprint of a boot spelled out near her left hip. Thick, wide bruises were slashed across her thighs, showing where she had been hoisted into the air with ropes. As with Legolas, every rib was easily visible, and her neck also bore the signs of having a collar. Her back was scabbed and healing nicely - it had been almost two weeks since her last lashing, and her wounds were not as fresh as Legolas's. She fumbled around the bathroom for a moment, fingertips skating across surfaces, until she found a neatly-embroidered washcloth. She dipped it into Legolas's bathing water, using some of his soap, and began scrubbing herself. She had done this enough times to remember to carefully wash around her wounds instead of roughly scraping it across; she had learned much in sixty years.
They traded places within minutes - they had learned to be fast in everything they did - and soon Legolas was toweling himself off, trying to squeeze the excess dampness from his hair. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had washed his hair, and it felt so good to finally be rid of most of the dirt. The mats and snarls, however, were a different story. He used the wide-toothed comb, the ivory teeth sticking in his hair, but it was no use. It just seemed to make it worse. So instead he rolled it up at the base of his neck and tucked it into his shirt, like Amariel did. There was nothing to be done about their clothes, so he just put on his old ones, disliking the feel of his dirty rags sliding over his newly clean, rubbed-raw skin. He dared not touch the scented oils or the fancy perfumes - that was obviously reserved for others, servants perhaps, not slaves. He readied a towel for Amariel; after being so long in captivity, they were used to each other's nakedness. It did not seem as crude, as degrading, when she was washing herself, but when the soldiers who Amariel was forced to entertain stripped her, her very body seemed to blush.
Amariel and Legolas paused, unsure as to what to do, and finally they plucked up the courage to open the door. Elrohir and Elladan were waiting by the window, deep in conversation, but looked up instantly at the creak of the door. Elrohir's nose wrinkled. "No, no, no, no," he said, almost to himself, and regretted it right away. They both cowered, stepping backwards to gather themselves and make them seem smaller, and Legolas actually halfheartedly threw up a forearm to shield himself. "Nay, friend," Elrohir said soothingly. "I only meant to express my displeasure at the sight of your clothes. We must get you better clothing - what is the point of being clean only to put on dirty clothes again?" He turned to his brother. "Brother, could you go rouse Nimrodel once more and see if you can find some suitable clothes for the two of them?"
"Very well," Elladan said, and took off down the hallway, his quick footsteps making little noise on the smooth stone floors. Elrohir turned to the still-flinching slaves.
"You look much better," he said approvingly. "You are free now, not slaves. You are people, and you will be treated as such. I am called Elrohir, and my brother is Elladan. We are the sons of Elrond. This is Imaldris, or Rivendell, home of the Elves. Who are you?"
There was a long silence, and then Amariel began, her voice barely audible. "Sir, if I may speak?" she asked timidly. He was taken aback, but rallied quickly.
"Yes, child, speak. What is your name?" He was flabbergasted when she knelt and kissed the hem of his robe, and remained kneeling.
"They call me Amariel. I am from Lorien, if it pleases you, sir." she said, whispering. To her surprise, she felt him bringing her to her feet.
"Do not kneel before me, child. My name is Elrohir, not 'Sir'. You have a precious name, Lady Amariel. And who is your silent companion? Can he speak?" Elrohir asked, eyeing the fragile-looking blond with pity. The ellon quaked at being addressed, and dropped clumsily to his knees, also kissing the hem of Elrohir's robe.
"I-I am called Legolas, my Lord," he said, voice shaking as he trembled. Elrohir helped him to his feet as well, and grasped the elf by both shoulders. Right away, he stood stock still, eyes wide and terrified, as he froze internally.
"I am Elrohir, little one. Where do you hail from?" he asked. Legolas shook his head dumbly. Amariel came to his defense.
"If it pleases you -" she began falteringly. Elrohir, completely unaccustomed to his servile treatment, rolled his eyes.
"And what if it doesn't please me?" he said lightly. "Will you still tell me?"
"If your Lordship does not wish it," she said softly, "I shall not say what I was preparing to tell you." Elrohir waved a hand exasperatedly.
"Nay, nay, maiden, tell me what it is." Elrohir said, releasing Legolas at last. The blond ellon stepped away hurriedly, shivering.
"He is from Mirkwood, Lordship. At least, his mother was, so he must be of Mirkwood lineage." Amariel said, quaking inside. She had never been allowed to be so free of speech with anyone in almost seventy years. It was almost frightening. She couldn't imagine how Legolas felt, seeing as he remember practically nothing of civilian life.
Elladan came back with a stack of clothing piled in his arms. "Nimrodel has taken a short leave," he said, with a meaningful glance at his twin. "Here, I believe these should fit you fine. If they are too small or too large, we shall find you a better fit as soon as we can. Eventually, we shall have you fitted for clothes of your own." His mouth dropped open in stupefaction when both Amariel and Legolas knelt in front of him.
"Thank you," Legolas whispered. "Thank you, my Lord, thank you very much."
Elladan was speechless.